


Black Ice Tidbits

by mouridrakon



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouridrakon/pseuds/mouridrakon
Summary: Originally, these were posted on my tumblr as the Tidbits series. None of them are very long.
Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Fear of the Dark

# 1 - FEAR OF THE DARK

Inky blackness reached forward with tendrils sticky with fear. Each inch they moved, light was swallowed; the light fought to replace what was taken, but it was not enough. Slowly, too slow to track, the darkness reached forward and – suddenly – struck. 

A yelp was swallowed in the encasing darkness, a pale hand reaching out toward the moon, blue eyes wide with sudden fear. Then the dark closed over those eyes, pulling the pale hand down, obscuring every bit of the dark’s captive.

“Don’t be afraid, Jack… it’s just like last time…” purred a silky voice out of the dark. Inky tendrils pulled the boy down, further into the dark. “Fear of the dark only encourages me, my dear Jack Frost…”

Though he could not speak, the pale skinned boy struggled against the blackness. The boy shivered as a long-fingered hand ran up his pale neck, trailing up Jack’s ear.

“Keep struggling, Jack…” the velvety voice purred into the boy’s ear, even as he struggled against that darkness. “It will do you no good… it only makes me hold you tighter…” 

Even as the dark said this, the tendrils wrapped tighter and tighter around the boy. The boy in their grasp opened his mouth to protest, to cry out, even as his back arched in his struggle. But that was a mistake. The darkness shot inside, slipping past the boy’s tongue, dying his teeth an inky grey. The shadow went further, down the boy’s throat, clogging it with the dark. The boy tried to scream, tried to bite down, struggled all the more – but the dark invaded his body. 

As the boy struggled harder, the tendrils ranged all over his body, holding him tight, spreading his arms, his legs, hiding the light from him. 

“Fight me, Jack…” the voice purred, yellow eyes opening above the boy. “Take me deeper inside you… you won’t be able to spit me out this time…” 

The pale skinned boy pulled at his arms, struggled to free his legs – but to no avail. The blackness held tight as a figure began to take shape from the dark all around the boy. White teeth formed a smirk and the form bent over the boy – now paralyzed with fear. 

Or was it fear? It wasn’t just fear in the boy’s bright blue eyes. Stubbornness mingled with the fear; hate and apprehension danced in those deep depths. 

But that look only made the figure chuckle – a low, disturbing laugh. 

“Oh, Jack… you know I love that look in your eyes… that look you get when you’re trapped in my web…”  
\- tumblr got above -  
Jack seemed to wilt under that gaze, with those words hanging between them. But the look of stubborn refusal continued to burn in Jack’s silent gaze. 

It only enticed that figure. “Jack… Jack… that look is beautiful… I pray you never lose that spirit… I would miss it…” purred the silky voice as a black talon trailed down the boy’s pale cheek. The boy tried to turn away, tried hard to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine. The smirk on the figure only widened. 

“Resist me, Jack… find me revolting…” the darkness purred; the figure leaned down and slowly kissed the boy’s cheek. “As long as it is me… as long as I am the only thing you think of… fear me, hate me, revolt me… it is enough that I will be on your mind…”

As he said this, the figure moved, slowly – purposeful – and trailed his talon nail down the boy’s cheek, his neck, his chest. The dark talons ripped through clothing, shredding it, leaving pale flesh open to the figure’s scrutiny. Gentle fingers trailed down the boy’s chest, a smile lighting the figure’s lips. 

“Oh, Jack… you’ve gotten so thin… you aren’t eating well enough… here… let me fix that…” the dark murmured, kissing the boy’s neck and shoulder. The tendril shoved down the boy’s throat only seemed to grow larger – bulging three, four times, until Jack was forced to swallow or drown in the slimy dark pouring down his throat. 

Tears sprang to the boy’s eyes as he forced down the muck, struggling once more. But the dark kept hold and the figure moved lower. 

“Jack, Jack, Jack…” the figure tsked, shaking his head, “Look at yourself… you just don’t take very good care of yourself, do you?” The golden eyes looked lower, at the remains of the boy’s shredded pants. Only bare skin remained, long fingers splayed against Jack’s inner thighs. “Look at all these scars…” But then the figure placed a hand on his lips, covering up a smile. “Oh, I nearly forgot…”

The dark leaned close, suffocating, lips touching the boy’s own, voice down to a mere whisper. “Those are from me… how could I forget… after all… they show I own you…”

The boy did his best, trying to pull away, but the darkness held fast. Then the shadow around the figure melted away, leaving his naked form pressed against Jack’s own. 

“But you seem to keep forgetting that…” the figure murmured, threading one hand through the boy’s white-silver locks. “My sweet winter chill… you keep forgetting… how well we go together… the dark… winter’s chill… ice and fear… so many people have nightmares of you now… of Jack Frost coming to nip their lovely children away… into the winter night… just like the night you tried to face me… the night we became one for the first time…”

The boy struggled hard, screaming against the tendril as the figure shifted, slowly at first. But as the minutes stretched on and more tears streamed down Jack’s cheeks, his back arched high, his chocked sobs turned into moans. His shudders of pain and fear turned into shudders of pleasure. The tendril slowly slithered out of Jack’s mouth, making a pop as it left, shining with the boy’s saliva. 

“Remember who you belong to, Jack…” the figure purred into the boy’s ear, picking up speed. “You are mine… you will always be mine…”

Jack didn’t respond to the words with words of his own; he could only shake his head and bite his lip, trying desperately to cut off any moans. But the darkness wouldn’t have that.

“Say it, Jack…” the figure urged, moving faster. 

The boy cried out, his hands forming tight fists, his nails digging into his fleshy palms. 

“Say it…” again the figure urged him, holding the boy tight against his chest. “Say it!”

“P-Pitch!” Jack screamed, shutting his eyes tight against the tears. “I-I’m – AH! – y-yours!”

The figure stilled, shuddering once or twice, holding tightly to the boy’s frame. Then, slowly, the yellow-eyed form pressed kisses down the boy’s shaking frame. Just as slowly, the dark figure moved back up to the boy’s neck, kissing up to Jack’s lips. After a bruising kiss, the dark whispered, “Why do you make me hurt you, Jack? You know you should just join me…”

But the boy shook his head and turned away, tears flowing freely. 

After a muttered curse, the figure moved off of the boy, his shadowed cloak wrapping itself around the figure’s flesh. “As you wish it, Jack. I will just have to convince you…”

As he said this, the figure held up a sharp, shining black dagger. Though the boy did not look, his frame shuddered in fear, anticipation, knowing what that blade will do to him.

What Pitch would do to him.

“Ah, my poor Jack… you’re so beautiful bathed in fear… I will never tire of the sight…” Pitch purred, running the flat of the blade along the boy’s inner thigh. “You will join me eventually… eventually… and I can wait… I’m very patient… I waited over a millennia to be free from Nightlight… I waited three hundred years until I was ready… and for you? For you… I would wait even longer… you will be what Nightlight could never be… what your precious Tsar Lunar was too afraid to become…”

The first thin rivulet of red trickled down the boy’s thigh, causing a quiver in his muscle. The blade danced along pale flesh, opening up deeper and deeper cuts. 

“You will be the Prince of Nightmares…” 

Though the boy tried to keep silent, he cried out and tried to pull away at a particularly deep cut. But Pitch ‘tsked’ him again. 

“Jack… is that any way to act to someone who wants to help you? You never got any answers from Lunar… but I’m offering you a home… answers… someone who will talk to you… someone who will love you…” 

It all sounded so sweet – too sweet – and Jack shook his head. How could he agree to that? He knew what Pitch would do to his friends –

No, Jack knew what he would be made to do to his friends. 

“My poor little winter… don’t worry now, Jack… I’ll make everything better…” The dark swarmed the boy, seeping into those cuts, digging and invading the boy’s body. “I’ll be your King, and you will be my Prince… and we’ll make sweet nightmares together… you can make as many blizzards and snow storms as you like… we’ll even put a few in Mexico… I hear they don’t get enough…”

The boy howled in pain, his body convulsing within the grasp of the darkness. But the dark had a strong and steady hold, seeping into his skin, into his blood, his veins, his muscles – his heart and his brain. Only when the figure was certain the boy was overwhelmed by the dark did Pitch wrap his arms around the boy. Only then did the dark let go of his limbs as Jack went limp. 

Still conscious, the boy opened dulled blue eyes, drooped as they were, and uttered a tiny, pained whimper. Pitch smiled and threaded his fingers through the boy’s hair, kissing the top of his forehead.

“Welcome, my Prince…to the world of nightmares…”

-FIN-


	2. If They Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: Sexual Violence

# 2 - IF THEY SAY

There’s always going to be a time when the dark holds too many secrets that even good sense cannot prevail and fear takes over. Then there’s those times when the dark is just a sanctuary. Those times when the dark opens its arms to comfort.

With a smirk, the dark steps forward and envelopes the unsuspecting white-haired boy. A young boy – no more than sixteen – wrapped up in a cloak of darkness, golden eyes and long fingers holding him close. A shiver ran through the young boy’s form and for a moment he tries to pull away. But the darkness increases its grip and a voice purrs into his pale ear.

“Where are you going, Jack? You aren’t still afraid, are you?” The velvety voice alarms the boy for a moment, but he stills – paralyzed.

“Pitch,” the boy whispers, an intake of breath, “How did you-”

“You can’t get rid of the dark, Jack…” purred that voice of sweet temptation. “I’ll always be here… even when you think I’m gone… when you least expect it, I’ll be there.”

Again, the boy tries to pull away, but the dark holds tight.

“Let go!”

“No,” the dark purrs, long fingers trailing down the boy’s form, memorizing every curve, every muscle beneath the fabric. “We never really got to know each other, Jack… so why don’t we take this time to do so?”

Suddenly the dark enclosed the two of them in its embrace, dragging them down, down, into the depths of the Earth. The boy struggles in the confines of that dark embrace, writhing and kicking. The dark surges, encasing the boy’s legs, pushing them together. Pitch only held him tighter, clutching the boy to his chest.

“You can’t escape me, Jack… not until I let you go…”

But Jack didn’t stop struggling, he only closed his eyes to the dark and imagined he was beneath the moon, in that cold dark place he woke all those years ago. His struggling increased – until the darkness was forced to pin the boy’s arms to his sides.

“Jack, Jack, Jack…” the velvety voice purred into his ears, “you disappoint me… I thought you liked adventure? Just think of this as one which will never end…”

Jack’s eyes opened enough to glare at the dark around him, struggling all the harder. “Get _off_ of me!” he screeched, snapping at a tendril that dared to come close to him. But the dark moved out of the way, and Pitch slipped around Jack, letting the tendrils hold him securely. He smiled at the boy, one finger slipping under the boy’s chin.

“Oh, Jack~… that look… it gives me shivers…” Pitch purred, leaning in close and giving the boy a light, chaste kiss.

The boy growled and spit on Pitch’s cheek, glowering, daring the other to retaliate.

After the first moment of indignation, the Nightmare King reached up and whipped the saliva off his cheek. With a predatory smirk on his lips, Pitch tsked at the boy. “Oh, Jack… you shouldn’t have done that… It only makes me want to break you…”

“Go to Hell,” the boy of winter growled, pulling at his bonds.

The Nightmare King moved closer, threading his fingers through the boy’s hair. “We’re already there.” Then the pale creature of fear pressed their lips together in a bruising kiss, gripping hard to the back of Jack’s head, preventing him from turning away.

No matter how much Jack wanted to.

After the long kiss, Jack wrenched his head away from Pitch – and the Nightmare King let him have that, a smile still on his lips. With a flick of his wrist, the tendrils bound Jack’s arms behind him. Pitch trailed a nail down the boy’s cheek and over his lips, a chuckle escaping the Nightmare. In the wake of that nail, a shadow crossed the boy’s face, wrapping itself over Jack’s lips.

“I can’t have you spitting on me again…” Pitch purred by way of explanation. Ever so slowly, the shadow-cloaked man traced the boy’s frail form, trailing every nuance of the boy’s frame. Jack couldn’t help the shudder than laced up his spine, tugging hard at the bonds and trying to pull away.

But Jack already had his victory. Pitch wouldn’t allow him any more than one.

Pitch slipped a hand between Jack’s hoodie and his flesh, fingers spreading wide as he moved. His lips came down on the boy’s neck, nibbling here and there. Jack shuddered and pulled on his restraints, wrenching his head away from the man. But doing so only opened his neck up to further kisses and bites. Pitch moved up the boy’s neck, slowly and marking every bit of flesh as he went, until he began to nibble along the boy’s ear.

“Fight me, Jack,” the darkness purred into the young man’s ear, biting once, twice. “Fight me with all your strength…”

Pitch slowly trailed a hand beneath Jack’s hoodie, digging in with his talons. Red rivers blossomed on the boy’s flesh as Jack tugged and fought harder, jerking at his restraints. His mouth opened in a silent cry of pain, tears springing to his eyes.

But those tears didn’t fall. He shut his eyes to the rising tears and the pain that stained his chest. The talons dug harder into his flesh, Pitch watching with feverish eyes as the boy convulsed and jolted at each inch those claws cut.

“Scream for me, Jack…”

The words barely registered, but it was enough for Jack to shake his head in denial. He wasn’t going to scream. He wouldn’t give Pitch the satisfaction.

With a knowing smirk, Pitch pulled his hand away; long enough to retrieve a dagger of lead – dark, sharp, and absorbing light with every second – then Pitch was back in front of Jack, a finger trailing down the boy’s cheek.

“You will scream for me, Jack… you don’t have a choice…”

The boy slowly opened his eyes and regretted it immediately. Blue eyes fell on that sharp blade and the unfamiliar feeling of despair settled into the pit of his stomach. _No, no, no…_

With precise movements, Pitch cut up the middle of Jack’s hoodie, unhurried. Jack held unnaturally still, aware of the point as it moved just above his flesh, skin prickling. When the blade sliced the last bits of thread holding Jack’s hoodie in place, the winter child let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. The reaction only made Pitch chuckle, a cruel smirk on his lips.

“Oh, Jack… your fear is intoxicating…”

Jack swallowed hard, glaring, trying to show he wasn’t afraid. But Pitch knew better. He examined the blade, aware that Jack’s eyes never left the sharp edge. Meticulously, Pitch ran the blade’s point lightly down Jack’s front; though it did not cut, it left the impression that it could at a moment’s notice. Jack again held his breath, terrified to take even a single breath, move even a single centimeter.

But then the blade left his stomach and began to slice through his pants. Measured strikes cut the fabric to ribbons, leaving nothing to cover the boy’s flesh. Jack’s skin crawled as Pitch’s eyes roamed every inch of the boy.

Then he smiled.

“Careful now, Jack… or I might just cut you…” The blade seemed to ‘slip’ from Pitch’s grasp and he made no move to catch it – even as it sliced into the boy’s inner thigh.

Jack cried out in sudden pain, jerking his leg as far as he could away from the blade.

“Oops. Clumsy me…” Pitch purred, taking the blade in one hand and stroking Jack’s injured thigh with the other. His fingers fiddled briefly with the wound, making Jack shudder and groan in pain. Tears he had been holding back trickled down his cheeks. With a smile, Pitch leaned over the boy and licked those tears off Jack’s cheeks.

“Delicious… you just don’t know how intoxicating your fear is … especially now, mixed with pain… oooh, Jack… I don’t think I’ll ever let you go…”

The blade trailed up the boy’s front, adding another rivulet of red, causing the boy to whimper with the pain. With a flick of his wrist, Pitch directed the dark tendrils pull Jack’s legs further apart. Pitch settled back to observe, his golden eyes bright with pleasure. The Nightmare King ran the flat of the blade along Jack’s legs as special tendrils shifted forward, dripping with aphrodisiac.

Three of those tendrils had mouths with sharp teeth and they began to nibble, lick, and suck at the boy’s crotch region. Another tendril – one without a mouth – poked and prodded at the Jack’s asshole. The tendril coated the boy’s entrance with the liquid, using it as lubricant. Then, at Pitch’s order, the tendril pushed in and a mouth tendril swallowed Jack’s member.

The boy jerked and arched his back, crying out into the gag. Other tendrils covered in the aphrodisiac slithered all over Jack’s body, gliding over his nipples, ribs, arms, and legs. Every exposed bit of flesh now shone with the liquid. Jack arched his back in part pain and part pleasure as the tendrils worked their magic, sucking him off and fucking him. The tendril pushed inside his anus bulged and grew in size with each thrust. The mouths on his penis and balls never let up their sucking and licking.

Jack’s body shook with the mingling sensations – and then he screamed in pain when Pitch buried the dagger in his thigh. With a wave of his hand, the King of Fear moved between the boy’s legs and dismissed the tendril inside of the boy. He wasted no time in replacing the tendril with himself.

The child of frost screamed again as Pitch plowed mercilessly into him. The tendrils continued their own job, sucking off Jack and pleasuring his body. The pleasure mingled with the pain and soon the boy was panting with need. His mind retreated and his body took full control.

But though Jack was on the verge of completion, Pitch didn’t let the boy cum. An inky tendril wrapped around the base of Jack’s member and squeezed, making the boy whimper in desire. Pitch leaned over the boy’s shaking frame and kissed Jack’s neck, biting once – and the gag disappeared.

“Beg for it, Jack… I won’t let you cum unless you beg for it…”

The boy whimpered and tugged at the bonds around his arms, eyes staring up at Pitch entreatingly. But the King only shook his head.

“Beg for it…”

Jack swallowed hard and shut his eyes tight. “P-please…” he whimpered, biting his traitorous lips.

Pitch smiled and kissed the boy’s neck, motionless inside of the boy. “Please what?”

When the boy was silent beyond a whimper, Pitch pulled out to the very tip and thrust in hard – knowing it would tear the boy’s lining. Jack shrieked in response.

“Answer me, Jack.”

Slowly, the boy opened his eyes and let his tears spill down his cheeks. “Please…l-let me…let me cum…” He felt dirty even uttering those words, and he immediately shut his eyes and turned his head away.

But that was all Pitch wanted. “As you wish,” the darkness purred into Jack’s ear, letting the tendril around the boy’s member disappear. Then Pitch was back in motion, driving hard into Jack’s ass. The boy screamed, cried out, and moaned loudly in both pain and pleasure.

Finally, the two convulsed, once, twice, thrice, and were still. Pitch moved again first, trailing his fingers down the boy’s bloody body. He purred in delight when he reached the lead blade and pitilessly pulled the blade out. The boy whimpered – having the energy for nothing else.

“Oh, Jack… you look good in red…” Pitch purred, his voice growing far away.

Then sudden light intruded on Jack, viewing it through a red film. With a moan of pain and exhaustion, Jack turned onto his side – and suddenly shot up into a sitting position. Looking around in confusion, his groggy mind reminded him he was at the North Pole.

“Must’ve fallen asleep…” he muttered, noting he was on a window seat. Why no one had bothered to wake him, he didn’t really care.

Because that dream – no, _nightmare_ – haunted him. As he moved, his body screamed in pain and protest. It was as if that nightmare had affected him physically. Terror gripped his chest and he pulled up his hoodie just a few inches.

With each inch, he saw more and more: scars that matched each cut from his nightmare. Gulping, he pushed his hoodie back down and glanced at his right thigh. He could feel the ugly scars he somehow knew was there.

The one where Pitch had ‘dropped’ the dagger.

And the one where Pitch had buried the dagger into his thigh.

Bile rose in the back of his throat and he raced to the nearest bathroom, making it just in time to throw up in the toilet. Jack was about to flush it when he froze.

His bile was black.

-FIN-


	3. Transform Me

# 3 - TRANSFORM ME

“Jack, where are you going?” a young woman with bright colors surrounding her asked suddenly, poking her head out of a doorway. Her kind eyes were red and stuffy, and her cheeks were stained with tear streaks.

“I need some air,” replied a pale young man, leaning on his staff as he placed a hand on the double doors.

“Please, Jack, you have to understand, that’s just how it’s always been… everything dies, Jack,” the woman moved from the doorway and fluttered her humming bird wings nervously. “Come back inside with me, Jack. No one should be alone right now…”

But Jack shook his head, staring at the door with blurring eyes. “Not right now, Tooth. I just need to be alone. I… need to clear my head. I’ll be back later.”

Tooth slowly placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder, her wings trembling. “Jack…”

Jack shrugged off her hand and pulled the door open, turning to her with a smile. “I’ll be alright.” Then he tugged the door closed and spun on his heel, jumping up on the cold, northern winds. His tears froze on his cheeks as he flew higher, spinning in the air. He wasn’t controlling where the wind went, he didn’t even care anymore. Then the wind suddenly ended, cut off it seemed, and Jack started falling.

But he didn’t yell, he didn’t scream, he just shut his eyes and let go of his staff. _It’s better this way._

Strong hands suddenly wrapped around the boy, clutching him close to a warm chest. Jack shivered and didn’t even care who it was; he turned his head and grabbed hold of the bit of fabric he found, burying his face into the chest. His brave mask faltered and the boy crumbled into tears.

Those strong hands didn’t pull away, the chest didn’t vanish. Instead, the arms held the young man tighter. It felt like North – only North was gone. It couldn’t be the big, jolly man.

He didn’t know how long had past, nor did he really care, but eventually, his tears ran themselves out. His breathing was laced with hiccups and he wasn’t clutching so hard to whoever held him – and those arms had never loosened their hold, providing a strong support. Slowly, Jack lifted his head, blue eyes puffy and nose running. Who he saw made his blood run cold.

Gold eyes set deep in an angular face. Black hair twisted up and away from tanned skin. A seemingly concerned look crossed the man’s face even as Jack began to pull away. But Jack wasn’t fooled.

Pitch Black wasn’t concerned for anyone but himself.

“Let me go, Pitch,” the young man whispered, turning away from the Nightmare King.

“Not with you like this,” the man murmured, placing a hand beneath Jack’s chin and turning those blue eyes toward him. Again, Jack tried to pull away, but Pitch didn’t let him go. “You nearly killed yourself, Jack. You didn’t even care. What happened?”

“ _You know very well what happened, you son of a bitch!”_ Jack suddenly screamed, slamming his fist against Pitch’s chest. “You killed him! I know it was you!”

“Killed…him?” Pitch tilted his head, genuinely concerned. Or just very good at acting.

“ _North! He’s dead! Stop playing dumb, Pitch! I know it was you!”_ His tears returned and Jack bowed his head, slamming his fist into Pitch’s chest over and over again. “Damn you…”

“…Jack, I haven’t been anywhere near the North Pole since you and the others beat me off,” Pitch replied, sounding very bitter about the whole affair. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

The Nightmare King didn’t allow Jack to pull away and instead held him all the tighter. “Jack… I didn’t kill him. I don’t know why you think I did, but I can assure you, I did not.” When the young man did not respond, Pitch glanced down at the boy and murmured, “How did he die?”

“…he died in his sleep…” Jack growled out, his fingers digging into the fabric of Pitch’s cloak. “But that can’t be what happened. He… he was in perfect health!” Jack’s shoulders shook as sobs wracked his body, his forehead pressed hard into Pitch’s collarbone. “We… We had an anniversary dinner… a-and then we all went to bed like normal… b-but when we woke up… _North didn’t wake up_...”

Pitch held the young man tighter, pressing Jack against his chest. He let the young man scream and cry, pounding Pitch’s chest, until both the sobs and pounding grew slower and finally stopped. But Pitch didn’t let him go. Instead, he picked up the reigns of his nightmare and directed the beast, adjusting Jack on the saddle. Only then did Jack realize he was sitting on a nightmare; only then did he realize he lost his staff.

But he didn’t care. He didn’t even mention it.

He just let Pitch take him where ever they were going. Jack didn’t have the strength to care or to fight back. After what should have been forever, the nightmare stopped – it was long past dark, but there were no stars to see. Jack didn’t care; he didn’t want to see anything right now. He curled himself tighter, burying his head into Pitch’s chest.

But then Pitch’s fingers threaded through white locks and Pitch whispered into Jack’s ear. “Time to get off.”

Jack shook his head; he was too tired to move, too tired to respond. His eyes were sore from all the crying and his throat hurt.

With a little smile, Pitch bundled Jack up in his arms, carrying him bridal style. Jack squeaked and clutched tightly to Pitch as the Nightmare King dismounted. “I won’t drop you,” the darkness promised.

With confident steps, Pitch carried Jack through his home, up stairs and under arches. Jack expected to find himself in a cage, hanging from the ceiling – but something entirely different happened. After a few moments of walking, Jack felt himself lowering and found himself on, instead of hard cold lead, a soft cushion.

The young man opened his eyes to stare up in confusion at Pitch – and found himself in a rather unexpected room. It was a living room, just like any you would find on the planet, or off planet. Couches, bookshelves, a rack of weapons – that may be out of place in a _normal_ living room, but if felt right here – and a coffee table.

“You didn’t expect me to live in a hobble, did you?” Pitch chuckled lightly, stepping into the next room. “I value my comfort as much as a nightmare values fear. Fear makes them grow – comfort keeps me from growing bored.” In just a few moments, Pitch came back into the room with a glass of water and handed it to Jack. He didn’t say anything, just handed the cup to Jack and sat down on the opposite couch.

Jack realized after a moment how incredibly _thirsty_ he was and carefully took a sip of the water – mindful that his long-standing enemy gave it to him. What was Pitch playing at? It was just normal water… was he planning on boring him to death? Or maybe lulling Jack into dropping his guard and slitting his throat?

But why save him in the first place? Why put him on the couch and give him water?

These are things you do for a friend, for a guest – not a captive.

“…what are you playing at?” the young man finally said, his voice just above a whisper. His throat still felt raw, but he wasn’t sure if he should keep drinking.

“Playing at? I assure you, Jack, this isn’t one of my games,” Pitch replied, raising an eyebrow. When Jack kept staring at the man in disbelief, Pitch shrugged and draped himself over his couch. “Honest, Jack; I didn’t want to leave you alone like that and I didn’t know what else to do. So I brought you here. That’s all.”

But that can’t be all. Jack was determined to find out what Pitch was up to.

So the young man slowly drank the water and set the cup down, settling on the edge of the couch. He was ready to get away at a moment’s notice – even without his staff. He was sorely missing the comforting wood now.

“Jack, I know you don’t particularly trust me,” Pitch began from his couch, sighing,” but I’m not your enemy right now. Can we just call a truce? I haven’t caused any nightmares in so long…” Slowly, Pitch turned his head toward Jack, staring at the young man with golden eyes. It seemed like he was undressing Jack; the gaze made the young man shift and glance away. “Are you afraid of me, Jack?”

But the boy of frost didn’t respond. He swallowed hard and glared at the wall. His eyes moved over every jutting rock, every crack and crevice. Abruptly, his chin was yanked in the other direction and wide blue eyes stared into narrowed gold ones.

“Don’t ignore me, Jack.”

In the few moments that Jack had spent memorizing the wall, Pitch had moved silent as a shadow and now towered over him, the boy’s chin held tightly in the Nightmare King’s hand. His low, dangerous voice ghosted over the boy’s face, making Jack shiver and try to pull away.

“If you don’t want to look at me, Jack… should I make _me_ the last thing you see…?” the Nightmare King growled in sudden, cold fury.

Jack shuddered and shook his head, his eyes widening further. He could tell Pitch was serious. “I-I won’t ignore you…”

Gradually, the fury left the Nightmare King and his fingers slid off of Jack. Heavy, slow steps took the man back to his couch where he sat and slumped. He wanted so much to ask forgiveness – but that wasn’t _him_. That wasn’t Pitch.

“Jack…” the Nightmare King began, raising his head and fixing gold eyes on the paralyzed boy. “You know what it’s like to be forgotten. To be ignored… to have no one _see_ you… or talk to you… but you don’t know what it’s like to be _feared_ …”

Jack swallowed hard and shook his head, looking down. “You’re right, I don’t… I’ve never had anyone fear me before. Sure, some people hate the snow and the ice, but they don’t hate me…”

“But people hate _fear_ … they hate _me_ , Jack, because I _am_ fear.”

“…I know…”

“But I don’t kill people, Jack…” the man sighed, looking down at the coffee table between them. “I may have tried to weaken you, to make you and the guardians lose their grip on the children… so they wouldn’t believe in you. But I wasn’t going to kill you.”

Jack started at that, looking up. Now that he thought back on everything, it was true. Pitch had tried to overwhelm them, to force them into a corner, to beat them – but he hadn’t taken several openings to kill them. He could have stopped Tooth from saving Jack, but he let her. He could have killed all of them when they were weakened. He could have killed Bunny when the nightmares attacked the tunnels.

_But he didn’t_.

“…we misjudged you…” Jack murmured, clasping his hands together and pointedly _not_ looking at Pitch. He wasn’t ignoring him; but he couldn’t face him. “Pitch… I’m sorry. I can’t speak for the others… but I’m sorry.”

The Nightmare King waved his hand dismissively, looking up at Jack. “It is nothing I am not used to… but I didn’t want to bear it from you.”

“…why just me? Why not tell the others?”

“Because they will listen? Pah!” Pitch stood then, hands clasped behind his back as he began to pace. “They would not give me the chance to speak. They would kill me on sight. You saw how they reacted to even the mere mention that I was back. And now that I roam the world again, it will be no different. If they knew… if your friends knew I was here… it would not end well. We would have to fight again.” Then Pitch stopped and spun on his heel, staring down at Jack. “But I have done nothing this time to warrant a fight. I do not wish to fight the Guardians. I am _tired_ of fighting, Jack. I’ve fought for several thousand years against all Guardians. And I am _tired_.”

Slowly, Jack stood and approached Pitch, hands outstretched. “Then let’s talk to the others. I’m sure they’re just as tired of fighting as you are.”

But Pitch turned before Jack could reach him. “No. It’s too late for that. They’re set in their ways. They won’t stop fighting me for anything. They think my very existence is against children.”

“But if we can show them-”

Pitch spun suddenly and grabbed Jack’s arms. “You don’t understand, Jack! They won’t stop! I am who I am, but they cannot understand that! I’m as much a Guardian as they!” And just as suddenly, the Nightmare King released the boy and slumped down onto a couch. “I was chosen, just like them… but I didn’t get the glamorous job…”

Jack sat beside Pitch, looking at him with the same concern that Pitch had shown towards Jack. “But… you’ve changed. You’re different.”

Pitch shook his head. “I’m no different than I was before. I’ve only grown... more patient.” As he said this, the Nightmare King struck, swiftly turning and seizing Jack, pinning him down to the couch.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to be here, Jack…”

“Son of a-! I knew it! You aren’t- get off of me!” Jack screamed and struggled, kicking out with his legs. But Pitch took care of that and pinned the boy’s legs beneath his body, capturing the boy’s lips with his own.

“I will have you, Jack… whether you like it or not…” the Nightmare King purred as Jack coughed and gagged, a clear liquid dripping down his chin.

“What… What did you just make me drink?”

But Pitch smiled, “Don’t worry… you’ll find out soon…”

_Soon_ was far too soon for Jack; his limps grew heavy and his mind fogged as his body began to grow heated. It was like a heat flash. Every point of contact with Pitch sent pinpricks of desire shooting all over his body. His blood seemed to race straight toward his crotch and his cheeks.

As Jack’s cheeks grew flushed, the Nightmare King slowly released the boy, trailing long fingers all along the boy’s arms and neck. His head dipped down between Jack’s head and shoulders, kissing and nibbling along the pale neck presented to him. Jack bucked and moaned, his hands immediately going to Pitch’s arm and back. Pitch ever so slowly began to undress Jack, sliding the boy’s hoodie off his chest. A trail of kisses followed the fabric up, making Jack’s back arch and the boy moaned louder.

Then Jack yelped when Pitch found his nipple. With a smirk, the Nightmare King nibbled and bit, licked and teased the boy’s nipple. All the while, his hands continued to slip the hoodie over Jack’s head. With a careless toss, the hoodie went flying. Jack squirmed – but did not fight – and cried out.

Pitch had squeezed his crotch in that moment.

With a chuckle, Pitch began to ever so slowly unbutton the boy’s pants. All the while, Jack shuddered and shivered, moaning loudly-

With a start and a jerk, Jack sat up straight. Sweat beaded his forehead and rolled down the sides of his face, his breath coming in gasps. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jack threw off the covers and raced to the bathroom. He turned the water on and splashed the refreshing liquid into his face.

Only then did he realize his rather noticeable tent in his pajamas. With a curse, Jack flipped on the shower. At least with the water running, no one would hear him take care of it.

“Damnit, Pitch… I’m going to kill you for that nightmare…” Jack grumbled as he dried his hair and padded back down to his room. On the way, he saw Toothiana and smiled. “Mornin’, Tooth.” But she didn’t answer. There were tears in her eyes and she sniffed.

“Tooth? What’s wrong?”

“I-It’s… It’s North…”

-FIN-


	4. Don't Leave Me

# 4 - Don’t leave me

Fingers land lightly along his skin, and raising goosebumps and causing him to shutter in delight. A second hand held tight to his hip, holding him firmly in place. Heat radiated from his spine as a chiseled, muscled chest pressed close against his back. A sharp pain mingled with pleasure raced up the spine, flinging his head back into a silent cry of pleasure.

Breath ghosted on this ear, a silky voice, enticing, “Don’t hold back, Jack…” A strong arms wrapped around his chest, holding him tightly. “I want to hear your cries…” purred the silky voice.

That voice made his body shudder a pleasure. Then another spike of pain and pleasure shot up his back, all the way to his neck. Jack cried out, moaning, resting his head back against a broad, muscled shoulder.

“Just like that…”

Jack smiled at those words, moaning softly at the feeling of being filled so completely. His hand grasped tightly onto the arm holding him, digging his nails in. Jack was sure he’d break skin – but he knew the silky-voiced that man wouldn’t mind.

Another pain-pleasure, another moan, louder this time. The silky-voiced man behind him was moving faster than before, filling Jack, stretching him completely – past what Jack thought he could handle.

“Pleasure yourself, Jack… I want you to cum with me…” that voice purred, causing another moan.

Then the words sunk in and Jack’s cheeks pinked. He shook his white hair, shutting his eyes tight. That was too embarrassing.

Curved lips purred into the boy’s ear, “Touch yourself, Jack…” The movements stilled and Jack whined in disappointment, shifting in the man’s lap. But the hand on his hip forced the boy to stop and still.

“Touch yourself… or we stop now…” the silky voice ordered, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Again, Jack whined and blushed brighter. But the boy nodded, turning his head away. He reached a shaking hand and grasped his straining erection, slowly beginning to pull on the skin. He moaned again – then his hand still and he gasped, crying out at the extreme pleasure.

That’s silky-voiced man had started moving again. But when he noticed Jack had stopped, that man tsked. “Do not stop, Jack…”

Biting his lip in frustration, Jack lifted his hand and started jerking off. The man watched with lust-filled golden eyes, timing his movements to match the rhythm of the boy’s hand. Jack’s mouth hung open, his eyes tightly shut, his body shuddering in overwhelming pleasure.

It was not much longer before both the boy and the golden-eyed man came to completion. Jack cried out, his body glistening with sweat as his erection jerked in his hand. Gasping at the air, pulling oxygen into his lungs, Jack leaned back in exhaustion against the cooling chest behind him.

Long, taloned fingers caressed his cheek, directing the boy’s head toward the man. Moist lips graced Jack’s own, claiming his lips in a passionate, bruising kiss. Then those fingers moved down his neck, his chest, trailing talons over his skin. Both hands moved together now, down Jack’s thighs and legs. The taloned hands grasped Jack under his knees, pulling the boy’s legs to his chest. Jack moaned and shifted slightly, pressing harder into the man’s chest. The golden-eyed man kissed the boy’s forehead as he slowly lifted Jack off of his lap. A soft, wet pop floated up from their connection, causing another moan to come from the boy. White fluid slowly gushed out of Jack, making the boy shudder, his blue eyes fluttering shut.

“Mmm, Jack… your voice is delightful…” the man purred into his ear as he slowly laid Jack down, settling next to the white-haired boy. Jack fluttered his eyes open sleepily and the boy snuggled up to the man. That silky voice chuckled and the man slipped an arm around Jack.

“Such a good boy…” purred the man, kissing Jack once more.

As the boy slowly shut his eyes, he buried his head into the man’s throat and chest. He was starting to drift off to sleep, his sweat-drenched body shivering and begging to sleep. With a smirk on his lips, the man kissed Jack’s forehead and pulled the blankets over their forms.

“Sleep… I will be here when you wake… I will keep watch as you sleep…”

After those words, Jack did not fight the darkness of unconsciousness. After all, he wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore.

Jack briefly wondered how they’d gotten to this point, thinking how amazingly lucky he was…

~~~

Too many nights he’d woken screaming. Too many nights he hadn’t slept until he was forced past the point of exhaustion. Too many nights plagued with nightmares.

A shaky sigh wracked his frame as he clutched his staff and abdomen. His eyes blurred with unshed tears and felt red and puff from lack of sleep.

Ever since the fight with Pitch, he’d had no dreams; only nightmares. The boy of winter was exhausted and leaned heavily on his staff. He hadn’t told the other Guardians – or anyone else – about his night terrors.

Not even Tsar Lunar.

Taking a trembling breath, Jack opened his eyes and glanced around the frozen clearing. From his view in the tree, he could see it all. This was his birth place, where he’d woken, and where he died. Where the man on the moon had first given him his name.

Jack Frost.

The winter wind, the ice on the pond, the snow in the trees – that was he.

This night, in his clearing, he was lost. Jack ran his fingers over the beloved wood of his staff and remembered the night Pitch had snapped it in half. The night he had mended it with his belief. Thoughts raced through his mind and he could feel a slight headache coming on. He was a Guardian of children. He was the winter. He was Jack Frost.

But what did that mean?

He felt so alone. The nightmares plaguing his sleep showed him only death, loneliness, failure, and worst of all, being forgotten all over again.

Things he was sure Pitch had experienced in that last battle.

Jack shook that thought away, turning his eyes up to the black sky. He was nothing like Pitch – no matter what the other had said to him. The moon was dark this night, the night of the new moon; only stars gave the little light they had to give, leaving the clearing and pond in a myriad of shadows.

Clutching his staff to his chest, Jack choked down the sobs threatening to break. He’d never felt so alone, so afraid, in all his years. Even those first few months weren’t so bad. He wasn’t as old as the other Guardians, but three hundred years alone didn’t seem as bad as now. After he’d known what it was like to have friends, what it was like not to be alone, he couldn’t stand the loneliness. He couldn’t go back to being alone.

But Jamie and his friends could see him now, right? They’d played with Jack in the winters.

Jamie was growing up, though. Soon he wouldn’t even think about Jack. Soon, Jack would be alone again.

Melancholy settled over Jack and he drew his legs up to his chest. A sob escaped him a tear broke through his dam. With the flood gates open, Jack buried his face in his knees, his shoulders shaking with his sobs. Chilled fingers lost their grip on the staff, but Jack didn’t notice it fall to the ground and bury itself in the snow.

It was sometime later when the boy heard a soft crunching in the snow. The steps stopped just below Jack, but the boy didn’t move. He wasn’t feeling much like trying to be seen tonight. It was useless, after all.

But a soft voice cut through his melancholy, enticing the boy to respond, “Jack… you’ve dropped your staff…”

Jack knew that voice. Slowly, he glanced from his knees and stared down in disbelief into golden eyes. That stare made him shiver and shrink into himself, clutching his knees all the tighter. Fear seized his heart in an iron grip.

Pitch.

“Won’t you come down…?” the silky voice carried up to the boy, making him shiver.

“I will not harm you, Jack…” the darkness promised when no response came from Jack. Pitch held out his hand, beckoning, to the boy. “I want to help…”

Jack shook his head and glared defensively down at Pitch. “Like Hell!” the boy growled, hugging himself. “You… You’ve given me nightmares!”

Pitch frowned at the accusation and shook his head. “I have let loose no fearlings…”

Jack moved like lightning, leaping down from the tree branch and landing in the snow not far from Pitch. He hit the ground running, racing toward Pitch, and had the cloak of darkness in his fists before the Nightmare King could react.

“And why should I believe you?!” Jack screamed, eyes seething. “You’re in all my nightmares! Every time I close my eyes, I see you! I wake up sweating and screaming because of you! I haven’t been able to sleep-”

Pitch cut off the boy with a sudden kiss, pulling Jack into his arms. Jack stood there, shocked, paralyzed. Before the boy could regain himself, Pitch ended the kiss and looked down at Jack, a sad, concerned smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry, Jack… but I did not send you nightmares… Let me help you. I will watch over you while you sleep… I will make sure you have sweet dreams…” Pitch vowed, his voice just above a whisper. “Let me help you, Jack… I can make the nightmares go away…”

The boy, exhausted as he was, crumbled against Pitch. He had no strength to fight. “…I don’t care anymore… I just… don’t want to be alone…” His greatest fear, alone and forgotten.

“No one wants to be alone, Jack… come with me… I’ll help you…”

It sounded so good, too good, and Jack knew he should say no, should resist. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t ready to think about this.

“…give me one night of restful sleep…” the boy murmured, sagging. “…and… I’ll decide after that…”

“That is all I ask…” Pitch replied, wrapping his arm protectively around Jack’s shoulders and leading the boy away.

One night had slowly turned into a week. A week became a month, a month became a year – and Jack didn’t want to leave. He’d be alone again if he did.

No one wants to be alone.

Right?

-FIN-


	5. Drag You Down

# 5 -DRAG YOU DOWN

_My mind must be playing tricks on me,_ Jack thought gloomily, staring out at the drizzling rain. Out of North’s home, rain fell, not snow. But how? They were so far north for anything but ice and snow – and yet it rained. 

Not only was it raining, it was incredibly dark out the window.

And something moved in that inky blackness.

Jack shaded his eyes from the lights inside the stronghold, trying to see what moved outside. Many minutes passed and he was about to call it a hallucination-

But then he caught a glimpse, a flash of gold.

_Was it the Sandman?_

_No._

Another flash of gold, close this time, caught in the darkness.

_Is someone in trouble?_

_A child?_

_No, not a child._

But Jack couldn’t sit there anymore. He jumped from the windowsill and raced for the door, throwing it open. Inky blackness consumed the little bits of light from inside, stopping the pale boy in his tracks.

Fear gripped hold of him, wanting him to stay inside, to go to bed and forget what he saw. Forget the flashes of gold and succumb to the embrace of sleep.

But that flash of gold caught his eye again – it was further away than before, moving.

Gripping his staff, he leapt from the stronghold of the North Pole, out into the black, rainy night. He grabbed the wind and raced along it, toward the flash of gold, keeping his mind on the target. He couldn’t let fear get him again.

He stumbled as he landed, his arms wheeling to steady himself – and found himself staring down into a void blacker than the night around him.

Strong arms pulled him back from the ledge, steadying the boy, holding Jack against a strong chest.

“Looking for death, Jack?” purred a silky voice into Jack’s ear, breath ghosting over his cartilage.

Jack shivered and pulled away fast, turning to see his savior.

_Pitch_.

“B-but… You’re dead!”

“Not dead, Jack… you can’t _kill_ fear…” Pitch purred, smirking. “You can’t change it…. you can mold it, master it… conquer it… but you cannot kill it… you cannot make it something it is not… you can use it, as a weapon… make fear sharpen your courage… or it will conquer you and paralyze you…”

Suddenly, the darkness took shape around him and clutched at his arms, at his legs, his clothes, his hair, wrenching away his staff.

“ _Are you afraid, Jack?_ ”

_Yes._ But he couldn’t speak. Darkness clogged his throat, a hand out of the inky blackness covering his mouth. His body shook in fear as the inky stuff crawled up his body, swallowing him, dragging him down –

_Down where?_

Jack didn’t know. His eyes bulged as he struggled against the darkness. Pitch watched him absently, like he was a misbehaving child. He even tsked when Jack’s struggle made the darkness open a cut.

“Stop fighting me, Jack…” murmured Pitch, his hands behind his back as watched the darkness hold him. Slowly, a vulture circling his pray, the King of Nightmares strode around Jack.

_Stuck up prick_.

Pitch smiled then, as if he heard the boy’s inner thoughts. But how could he?

A strange itch started at his ankles, crawling up his legs, thighs, hips, up his spine. Jack squirmed and tried to scream, tried to yank himself out of the darkness. But he couldn’t move anymore.

“Do not resist, Jack… you will be my Prince… and you’ll be on your knees before me… Always on your knees… begging forgiveness for delaying my plans... _And I don’t forgive such things easily, Jack…_ ”

The last words from Pitch’s mouth brushed his ear, sending a fresh spike of fear down his spine. But then that itching reached his neck and he twisted as much as he possibly could, arching his back and turning this way and that. The darkness allowed him very little movement.

And all Pitch did was chuckle.

“You cannot escape me, Jack…”

_I won’t give in to you!_

“Oh, but you will…”

_You… you can read my thoughts? But how?_

“You are _mine_ now, Jack… _my_ princeling. Every thought you think, every action you take… I will know it… and you will do as I say… you will think what I want you to think…”

_Never. I’ll never do what you want. I’ll fight you!_

“And I will break you.”

Those words chilled Jack unlike any blizzard could. _I…I won’t be like you_ …

“You will have no choice, my princeling… you are _mine_ … and it will take long before you know it, through and through.”

_You… no, never! You’ll have to kill me first!_

“That won’t be necessary, actually…” Pitch purred, sounding very pleased with himself.

Maybe whatever was causing the itching was Pitch’s fault. Something in the back of his head said that was it. Whatever was happening… it was to Pitch’s benefit. Jack had to stop it; but he didn’t know what it was doing.

_Stop! What are you- what are you doing to me?!_ Jack screamed in his mind, a sudden flash of pain causing him to shut his eyes.

The boy could hear the smile as Pitch purred into his ear. “I already told you, Jack… _you will be my little prince of nightmares…_ ”

Jack screamed through the oily blackness clogging his throat, muffling the sound. He fought against the darkness harder, but the dark goop paralyzed him like tar. Jack’s heart seized at the feeling of being choked and trapped.

_No! I won’t die here!_

The darkness laughed again. “I am not going to kill you, Jack… you’re much more valuable alive…”

_I… I won’t serve you!_

“Oh, but you will… now… let’s finish your conversion… and then we can go home… and start your training…”

Jack screamed as the dark itching got to his head, his brain, threading over his eyes and shutting out his vision. _No-_

When sight returned to the boy, he knelt slumped before a throne of some dark metal – _lead_ , his brain supplied. In that throne sat his enemy – _no, not enemy._

_Father_ …

Pitch smiled and motioned for Jack to come closer; he didn’t need to use words. The boy moved slowly, sluggishly, and knelt closer to the throne, right in front of Pitch. The King reached a taloned hand out and lifted the boy’s chin.

“Welcome home, my prince…” the King purred, golden eyes half-lidded. “Are you ready to be taught the craft of nightmares?”

Jack nodded obediently, standing only when Pitch did. The Nightmare King placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder, steering him in the right direction. They soon came to a pit full of what looked like tar.

_The stuff fearlings and nightmares are made of_ …

Not the Dreamsand, no. This was before the Dreamsand. Somehow, Jack knew this stuff takes forever to craft into fearlings, forever to craft into a proper nightmare. That’s why Pitch learned to re-write the Dreamsand.

Slowly, the boy turned dull blue eyes to glance at Pitch. “…F-father… why use… this stuff…?” He was having trouble speaking for whatever reason. He couldn’t place it, but Jack had the troubling feeling he wasn’t real. Like he was a second personality born of trauma. But that couldn’t be right.

As if to emphasize this, Pitch squeezed his shoulder. “This _stuff_ is in abundance in the universe. Everyone with a heart creates more and more of this tar with every breath they take. Fear makes it potent, pain emboldens it, and screams… screams are a serenade that shapes it.” When Pitch said that, Jack frowned; strange… he didn’t like the idea that pain, fear, and screams was so coveted by his Father.

“But… screams… can’t be… captured… right?”

“Ah, we do not need to do so… every scream from every lip is already here. Screams from long ago are especially potent.” The King of Nightmares released Jack briefly and strode to a wall. Placing a hand on the stone, the hand sunk in and came out again, holding a bottle. It _looked_ empty, full of nothing but air.

Again, something inside Jack told him it wasn’t empty; it held a scream.

Pitch stood beside the pit of nightmare tar and beckoned Jack closer. Obediently, the boy moved to his Father’s side.

“Watch closely…” Pitch purred, then dropped the bottled scream into the tar.

The oily black liquid gurgled – _laughed_ and devoured the bottle. The glass was gone in seconds and suddenly a fearling hand sprouted from the surface. Then the fearling itself tore loose from the surface and an inhuman scream shook the cavern.

Jack paled further and pressed closer to Pitch. It was like nothing he’d ever seen.

The fearling circled the pit until it finally came to Pitch’s outstretched hand. The Nightmare King purred orders to the fearling and it floated out, destined to cause nightmares – or be destroyed by a Guardian.

Pitch wrapped an arm around Jack and smiled. “Your turn, my child.” The King of Nightmares directed the boy to the wall where he’d retrieved the bottle and gave him a little push. Jack gulped and walked – more like stumbled – to the wall. He raised a shaky hand and pressed against the wall, expecting resistance.

But his hand went through the ‘wall’ as if it were only a mere illusion. _That’s because it is_ , his brain supplied. Drawing in a shaky breath, the boy pulled a bottle from the shelf. There was a label on it – 1298 A.D.

Was it really okay to use such an old scream? The boy glanced over his shoulder and Pitch and voiced his concern.

Pitch only smiled and nodded, beckoning the boy to the pit. “It will last longer than others.”

Gulping, the boy bobbed his head and forced his legs to take him to the tar pit. His hand shook violently when he held it over the pit.

“Drop it in, child…”

His fingers felt numb, not wanting to obey him – but finally, Jack forced his fingers to let the bottle fall. His eyes widened as he watched the bottle fall. It dropped in slow motion, but there was nothing Jack could do.

The tar gulped the bottle and scream in seconds, just like the previous bottle. And just like the previous, a fearling sprung from tar.

Only it was huge. Jack jumped back, his eyes wide in –

_Fear?_

But Jack _was_ fear. He was the prince. He shouldn’t feel fear.

The huge fearling circled the pit and floated over to Pitch and Jack. It waited there; Pitch glanced at Jack, expecting him to give the order.

But Jack stood paralyzed, pale as a ghost.

Sighing, the King of Nightmares gave the fearling its orders and the thing of tar floated out. Pitch turned back to Jack, his arms crossed.

“Get another scream. This time, find one that is young. A year or two at most.”

But Jack didn’t move; he hadn’t even registered that Pitch had spoken.

“ _Jack_. Are you listening to me?”

_No_.

Pitch’s eyes widened, and narrowed. “Obey me, princeling. _Get another scream._ ”

“ _No_ ,” this time, the word came out of Jack’s mouth – but had he said that? He didn’t remember wanting to-

Suddenly, Pitch’s fingers grasped Jack’s hair and yanked his head back, golden eyes meeting pale blue with a cold rage.

_“Do not dare defy me, Jack_. _”_

“Get your own bottle,” Jack bit out, though he screamed and raged against himself. _No, no, this is all wrong, I can’t defy Father-!_

_He isn’t_ my _father._

_But he is mine. I don’t know who you are, but this is my head-_

_He made you to replace me. “_ I am Jack Frost,” said that voice that wasn’t his, “and I will not be controlled.”

-TO BE CONTINUED-


	6. Be Afraid of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: Manipulation and sexual violence

\- CONTINUED FROM 5 - 

# 6 - BE _AFRAID_ OF ME

**-PITCH-**

How bad could I possibly be when I am feeling my nature? I am the Nightmare King. I am **fear**. You cannot defeat or change **fear**. You can only live with it.

So I ask you: do I go against my nature, do I become something I am not? Or do I be who I am, the very thing everyone hates – **fears**?

I have chosen hate and **fear**. I have chosen my nature.

I _am_ the King of Nightmares.

I am Pitch Black.

I am **fear** itself.

If you do not **fear** the dark, you soon will.

Sit, let me tell you a story. It begins with a boy, an eternal boy, named Jack Frost.

Ah, I see you’ve heard of him. Yes, he’s become nearly as well known as I. But this boy is a Guardian – or, he was. You see, something happened to him no more than a year ago.

He met me.

The young Guardian of fun and joy, a Guardian of childhood, faced **fear** for the first time. He was not alone – or so he thought. But when the Guardians needed each other the most, **fear** and **pride** got in the way.

When Jack needed his friends the most, they abandoned him. They let him face me alone.

And he was alone. He was cold, alone, broken…and deliciously **afraid**.

I broke his staff – his center and his power – and my power soared.

You may think he recovered. After all, his belief mended his staff and belief saved the Guardians. You may think they beat me.

But they only won one battle.

I won the war.

And Jack? Well… he never recovered.

He bravely – falsely – declared that he did not **fear** the dark. Ah, the folly of the young.

If he did not **fear** the dark…

Then why does he cower in my cages, dark as they are, made of light-leeching lead?

Why does he cower, whimper, and beg in that dark cage?

Because he is **afraid**. Deliciously, deliriously, **afraid**.

He is alone again. No one is going to save him. No one is going to help him.

Jack is mine.

~~~

**-JACK-**

**Fear** – overwhelming **fear** – permeated through my being, my body shaking, sweating, with it. There was nothing to see in my cage of darkness. I could not even make out the tip of my nose. The hard metal floor stole any comfort and the walls blocked sound and light. It felt like I was dying. It didn’t matter if I closed my eyes or tried to sleep.

There was always darkness.

I do not know how long I stayed there. I do not even know why he kept me there.

All I knew was Pitch had caught me. I had let me guard down long enough that he’d snuck up on me and then I woke in this cage of darkness.

And I remember his laughter. Chilling, terrible, and still it echoes in my mind.

Tears don’t stop it and it chases me even to m restless sleep.

Am I going mad?

I must be.

~~~

**-PITCH-**

Fingers ending in talons danced over the hard metal top of the lead cage; I could hear a whimper echo from inside. A smile stretched my lips, golden eyes glancing to the right. A nightmare snorted, beautiful as the night, nightmare sand shifting as she moved to my outstretched hand. She snuffled my palm lovingly, nuzzling the hand of her creator. I turned slowly back to the box of lead, sliding a hand over the surface. Reaching the release mechanism, I traced a nail around the switch before pressing down.

The whimpering from inside stopped, replaced by a **fear** -filled gasp. I could just imagine Jack shrinking back from the light as the door slid open. A smirk on my lips, I knelt down and caught sight of Jack. As I suspected, Jack’s wide blue eye nearly popped from his skull in **fear** ; the boy pressed himself as far into the back of the cage as he could.

I could not help the smile or the chuckle. The sounds only seemed to **frighten** him further. He even flinched at my voice.

“Are you ready to come out, Jack?” I purred, slowly reaching a hand out to caress the boy’s shaking leg.

The boy whimpered at the light touch, his arms wrapping tightly around his abdomen. He did not respond beyond that, drawing in on himself.

“Won’t you behave for me, Jack?”

The boy clutched at his ears, shutting his eyes tight.

Slowly, as if dealing with an animal, moved my hand, watching Jack for any movement. Quick as lightning, I struck; a smile on my lips, I grabbed hold of Jack’s hair, yanking the boy toward me.

“Oh, my little prince,” I cooed, wrapping my free arm around the boy. “I wish you would behave for me… life would be so sweet for you…”

The whimpering only continued. When Jack tried pulling away, my grip increased, the darkness coming forth and wrapping around Jack’s legs.

The boy squeaked and kicked his legs, only entangling himself further. His hands shot out then, in a tight first aimed at my face. Chuckling, I released the boy’s hair and grabbed his wrist, stopping the fist inches from my face. I could not help it; I laughed in his face at the futile attempt. The look of dejection and defeat bloomed on his face so beautifully.

“Are you ready to behave?” I purred, tracing his wrist with a talon. “I’m ready to forgive your insolence in the fearling hall…” After a bit of punishment, of course; but Jack didn’t need to know that.

Jack deflated and his body finally slumped against my chest.

_Victory_.

“Good choice, my prince…” I purred, leaning down and kissing the boy’s forehead. “Why you fought me at all is a wonder…”

**-JACK-**

The choked sob that worked its way up my throat fought free louder than I imagined. I couldn’t believe he beat me so easily. But I couldn’t fight anymore. My limbs didn’t obey me; they felt heavy and trapped. I was trapped in my own skin, my mind screaming.

I could not even speak. I looked away from Pitch, shaking in **fear** and shame. Pitch only chuckled and pulled me to my feet. But when I stumbled, when my legs would not support me, he lifted me up in his arms and _carried_ me.

A whimper slipped from me – a whimper of pain – as he carried me from the cavern of cages. His steps barely jostled me; but it’s his hands on my shoulders and under my knees that sent spikes of pain through me. I groaned in pain, refusing to turn my head into his shoulder, no matter how much the need clawed at me. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. That pleasure. My head still pounded from where he’d pulled my hair; there was no need to give him more confirmation of my pain.

Then the Nightmare King dropped me. I tumbled from his arms in a tangle of limbs onto sheets – silk sheets, my mind noted. Looking up at him in surprise, my surprise only doubled when the Nightmare King walked away. Struggling to get my limbs to work faster, I managed to crawl to the edge of the huge bed and sit up, legs hanging over the edge.

Then the sound of water reached my ears and I froze, glancing around, looking for the source. I caught sight of an open doorway to the right of the bed.

And through that doorway, Pitch strode back into the room. My heart sank when I saw him, half nude, coming towards me.

“Time for a bath, my prince…” he purred, gold eyes mirroring his smirk.

I shrank back from his hand, but he yanked my hair, pulling me closer. The pain forced a gasp from me, unexpected as the move had been.

“Do _not_ fight me, princeling…” Pitch part growled, and I could hear the threat in his voice. I shuddered and slowly nodded, wincing and forcing a gulp down my clogged throat.

“Good boy…” Pitch purred, slowly releasing my hair and taking my arm instead. He pulled me from the bed and practically dragged me to the bathroom; my legs did not work right, no matter how hard I tried to make them. He dropped my arm by the bath and stood above me, not bother to help as I collapsed against the bath. The bath at my back was slowly filling with hot, steaming water.

“Undress.”

One look at Pitch told me that if I did not obey and undress myself, Pitch would. And it wouldn’t be gentle.

Forcing my limbs to move, I hooked my hands under my hoodie and yanked it off, dropping it beside me. I glanced at Pitch and shivered at the way his gold eyes kept watch. I gulped and took a calming breath – it did not good. My hands shook as I unbuttoned my pants, purposefully keeping my eyes off of Pitch. I didn’t want to see the look on his face again.

Once was one time too many.

Another gulp and I wiggled my way out of my pants, pooling them beside the hoodie. I shivered and pulled my legs closer to my chest, my form starting to chill.

Ironic. Who knew that Jack Frost could feel the cold?

Then again, if I was just a creature of chill and nothing else, I couldn’t stand to be in warm areas. The hot bath at my back would be torture if that were the case.

Only then did my **terrified** mind remind me I was still in danger. Pitch moved without my notice and his hand was suddenly at my arm again, pulling me to my feet. I yelped and squirmed, but his grip was strong.

Pitch chuckled and yanked my head back by my hair, a cruel smirk on his lips. “If you continue to fight me, princeling, I will have to discipline you again…”

I shut my eyes tight on those cruel eyes and stopped my struggle. He manhandled me like a doll into the bath and settle in right beside me. The water sloshed as he pulled me closer to his chest, forcing me lean against him. I had to resist the urge to pull away; I didn’t wish to be punished. Pitch was… beyond sadistic during those times.

I didn’t want to be locked in that box again, either. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax into the water. It felt good – but that ended quickly. Once I’d relaxed, Pitch moved me into his lap and I instinctively tensed again.

The King of Nightmares tsked and threaded his fingers through my hair, causing another of those pathetic sounding whimpers. “Oh, my poor little Jack… you really should relax…” the King purred and trailed his nails across tense skin. I couldn’t help the shiver that crawled up my spine and the tremble through my limbs.

“If you will not relax… I will have to make you…” Pitch murmured into my ear. Another whimper and I had to tell my body sternly to stop getting me in trouble.

_Relax_.

_How can I relax when that_ bastard _is getting hard?!_

_Do you want to be hurt? Do you_ like _being hurt?_

_No._

_Then_ relax. _It’s the only way._

-TO BE CONTINUED-


	7. Don't Talk To Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: sexual violence

\- CONTINUED FROM 6 -

# 7 - DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS

**-PITCH-**

The boy of frost finally relaxed against me and I held him tight, keeping him from running. I ran a hand through his hair, pleased by the soft shivering it caused. Had I found a pleasure spot? A smirk spread my lips at the delightful though. Experimenting, I pulled lightly at Jack’s hair, not enough to hurt.

I was rewarded with a little moan, cut off suddenly when Jack covered his mouth with a hand, eyes bulging.

Again, I tsked. Moving one hand, I wrapped my fingers around Jack’s wrist, pulling his hand away from his mouth. “That won’t do, Jack… that just won’t do… I wish to hear you, princeling… your voice pleases me…”

The boy in my lap bit his lip and shivered, holding back, I was sure. _Well, we can’t have that, now can we?_

Dipping my head, I bit into his neck, sucking greedily on the flesh and blood. My determination earned me a gasp and whimper, a little cry of pain. The boy resisted his evident urge to pull away; his flesh quivered in pain and the need to wrench away. I bit harder, causing a yelp. His free hand shot to the hand holding his other wrist and only then did he squirm.

“S-S-stop-!” he gasped, his voice deliciously threaded with fear. “Th-That hurts-!”

Slowly, I let up on the bite, licking the bloody wound. “Then do not shut your mouth…” I growled, low and warning. The boy shivered on my lap, squirming slightly. “Do you understand, princeling?”

He nodded quickly, gulping. “Y-yes…”

“See that you remember… for I will not always be so forgiving…” I purred into his ear, my darkness slithering forward and sealing the wound on his neck. My fingers threaded again through his hair, the tips of my fingers rubbing his scalp. The boy again began to relax, especially after I released his wrist.

“If you behave… I will reward you…” I promised, my fingers travel down from his wrist to dance over his chest.

The boy nodded again, biting his lip in fear or anticipation, I liked to believe. I danced my fingers down his chest and up his legs, delighting in the way he shivered and – oh – _moaned_. Beautiful.

I dipped my head and nibbled at his neck, working my way up to his ear. His moans may not be loud _now_ … but they would be.

~~~

**-JACK-**

_Oh gods, I knew it, he’s going to rape me-!_ my panicked mind screamed, even as the other part of me reigned in my urge to pull away and put up a fight.

_Stay calm! If you don't resist, it won’t hurt as much! Resist him and it will hurt all the more!_

I shivered and let out a moan, turning my head – unfortunately allowing Pitch more access to my throbbing neck. My back arched when nails sharp as talons ran along my inner thighs. I gasped loudly when those talons closed in around my member.

“W-wait!” I cried out, shutting my eyes tight and grabbing the wrist of that hand that held my member. “N-not … not there!”

The Nightmare King kissed my temple, tsking slightly. “Yes there… do not fight it, princeling… if you fight, if you resist me…. I _will_ punish you… it _will_ be painful… do you want to be hurt? Do you like pain?”

_No… I’m not a masochist…_

I shook my head and relaxed my grip, but did not move my hand.

“Answer me, princeling…”

“I… I don’t… d-don’t …. d-don’t h-hurt me…” _Gods, why the stuttering? Am I really so pathetic? So terrified of him? Of **this**?_

_You aren’t pathetic… **we** aren’t pathetic… he’s just… terrifying… even to me…_

But my words pleased the King of Nightmares, for he kissed my temple again. His hand slowly squeezed and began to pull on my length, coaxing a loud moan from my throat. My cheeks burned with shame at the horrible, obvious **lust** in my voce, my body trembling with **need**.

“Good boy…” the Nightmare King purred, nibbling my ear, my neck, my shoulder.

Then his fingers were at my hair, threading through the white strands. A tug here, a tug there, pulling another moan _pleasure_ from me.

_Gods, I’m actually enjoying this…_

_Better than pain._

_Better than punishments._

Pitch tugged harder at my hair then, pulling my head back and forcing me to lie against his shoulder. The Nightmare King took advantage of my exposed neck, biting and kissing my flesh. Though I expected to be disgusted, it only amplified my rising desire. Heat not caused by the bathwater shot through me, collecting on my cheeks – and in my crotch.

My voice rose to a new height, voicing my desire for anyone to hear.

_…I’m a slut… a filthy whore…_

_Shut up and enjoy it._

**-PITCH-**

_My little Nightmare prince is almost ready_ , I smirked at the thought, my darkness beginning to bleed into the water. It sunk down over the boy’s submerged form, dying the water with an inky black. A tendril formed from the darkness, coiling and striking fast, shooting directly into the boy’s entrance.

Jack gasped in surprise as the small sliver of darkness sunk into his entrance, spreading his opening and muscles. The boy jerked on my lap, a smirk spreading my lips.

“Wh-what-AH-what is – IS – that?!” the boy cried out, his hips bucking. But the tendril stayed inside Jack, working its way deeper. As I hoped, the boy let out a loud moan as the tendril found his prostate.

My smirk widened at the moans and cries as the tendril moved, wriggling and growling thicker. I made sure the tendril did not go too deep; he was nearly ready for my entrance. I did not care how much it would hurt the boy. Submission was my only goal.

The boy squirmed, his back shuddering and arching, his nails digging into the arm around my waist. He cried out again, his hips bucking.

“Ple-please! I-AH-I can’t-!”

“Tell me what you want, princeling…” I purred into the boy’s ear.

But Jack shook his head, eyes scrunching shut as he moaned louder.

“Refuse me… and you will regret it, princeling…” I murmured into Jack’s ear, squeezing his member.

Another cry and Jack whimpered, “P-please…d-don’t … don’t tease … me…”

“What do you want instead, Jack?” I purred, kissing the boy’s temple. “Tell me, princeling.”

Again, Jack whimpered and pressed against my chest; another cry and he turned a tear-filled, beautifully blushed face up to me. “…p-please…” came the half-chocked voice, “f…f…fuck…me…”

~~~

**-JACK-**

Shame flooded through me as those words left my lips. But it was the only way. I couldn’t fight him if I didn’t want to be punished. I couldn’t resist him. I just couldn’t. The fight drained out of me in the next instance as Pitch lifted me up and impaled me, guiding his member inside of tight asshole.

I screamed. A loud, bone-chilling, gut-wrenching scream. Tears streamed down my cheeks at the utter pain spreading through my body. I couldn’t even struggle, couldn’t thin. All I knew was the pain of being filled so suddenly. What little preparation Pitch had done wasn’t enough – not even close.

But my scream – I could feel it – sent a shiver of _pleasure_ coursing through _his_ body. I whimpered at the thought; sadist. Horrible, cruel, terrifying sadist.

“S-S-S-Stop!” I pleaded as loud as I could, tears falling fast. But he didn’t stop, only pushed in further until I was filled completely – and past what I could handle. “Aaaah! S-stop! I-It hurts!”

I could almost see the smile on his lips, his words so dripped with pleasure. “Then scream… as loud as you want… tell me how much it hurts… let me hear your voice…”

And I did. Pitch began to move inside me, fast and painful. My back strained to get away from that pain, my hands reaching out to push away.

But then his voice was back. “Touch yourself, princeling, or you will feel nothing but pain…”

I shook my head stubbornly, shutting my eyes to the pain. His lips kissed along my sweat drenched neck, caressing my chest and arms with his hands.

“Touch yourself, princeling…” his voice, husky with pleasure, urged into my ear. Though his thrusting slowed to a bearable pace, another pain-filled whimper escaped my lips. “Touch yourself… or there will only be pain…you want pleasure, don’t you, Jack…?”

I could only nod at the question, tears still falling, my brain barely comprehending words. I couldn’t form words right now, not anymore. A hand came to rest around my wrist and guided that hand to my crotch, first making me feel exactly where Pitch impaled me. When my cheeks burned with shame and another whimper escaped, Pitch chuckled and guided my hand to my own penis. But I refuse to take my straining member into my hand.

“Touch yourself…” Pitch commanded, his voice coaxing.

The voice in my ear made me shiver and finally nod. Slowly, I took hold of my throbbing member and Pitch released my wrist. I gulped and hesitantly moved my hand as Pitch instructed me. Only then did Pitch continue to move inside of me, but he did so slowly and aimed so perfectly-

I screamed again, but not in pain. Pleasure shot across my every nerve, setting my body aflame. My frame convulsed and my hand stilled, stars exploding in my eyes.

“Keep moving your hand, Jack…keep the rhythm…” Pitch purred, kissing the flesh behind my ear. I moaned at the kiss, my body trembling for more – but I did as I was told.

Gods help me, it felt so good.

“That’s my princeling…” Pitch purred. Our movements became faster, a steady rhythm, and ever thrust felt like it was going deeper inside me.

Though my tears still fell and there was still pain, it was less and less noticeable. Now, my body focused only on the pleasure –

And _his voice_ as Pitch praised me.

A smile spread my lips, brightening my weary face. I must have looked like a slut, mouth open in moans and gasps. It was strange, really; half an hour ago, I was so terrified of him, so ready to fight and get away. And now? I just… I wanted to _please_ him. To be filled by him.

Gods, I’m such a slut.

_You are lost…_

**_We_ ** _are lost…_

_Yes… we are lost…_

_Don’t be scared, Jack…_

_I’m not afraid…. I’m… just disappointed…_

_In what?_

_Us… we failed to fight him…_

_I think it was inevitable… to be owned like this by him…_

_Maybe for you it was… he **made** you after all…_

_I know… but I think we’ll like it… being with him, I mean… we won’t have to fight anymore…_

_… I never did like fighting… I like… to have fun…_

_It will be fun, Jack… we’ll have lots of fun with him… so let’s not fight him anymore… let’s just… let’s just have fun._

_…Alright…_

**-FIN-**


	8. Two Left Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request from a reader.

# 8 - TWO LEFT FEET

**Mid-Summer Fair, Evening**

**-JACK-**

“Jack, Jack! Come dance with me!” called my little sister, running into me from behind and wrapping her little arms around me. Laughing, I turned and picked her up, swinging her around and tossing her over my shoulder. She giggled and squirmed.

“Put me down and dance with me!” she squealed, even as I turned back to the boys I had been talking to.

“If you’ll excuse me, guys, I have a sack of flour to deliver,” I grinned and winked. They laughed and waves as I started walking to the dance area, my sister still squirming on my shoulder.

“Put me dooooooown!”

“Ack, hey, don’t kick me,” I yelped, still grinning, as her foot connected with my chin. “Ouch.”

“Whimp! That’s what you get for throwing me over your shoulder like a Neanderthal!”

“I wouldn’t have to do that if you weren’t a sack of flour,” I laughed, setting her down. “Now, how about that dance?”

~~~

Shadows moved across the bonfire, dancing to a very loud and lively tune. The entire town was in full attendance, laughing, dancing, feasting.

“Humans…” growled a dark, predatory voice from the darkness around the village. The voice was quiet, so as to not disturb the humans – to not be heard. The shadows moved cautiously, golden eyes forming in the darkest parts. Slowly, the darkness swelled and moved forward, steps carefully placed and silent.

But a pair of eyes turned toward him, as if hearing him – it was a boy. The darkness stopped, still and silent, blending with the shadows. The strange boy separated from the celebration, bee-lining it seemed straight for the deep shadows. The dark moved back, carefully, stepping to the side and out of the boy’s path.

Yet the boy stepped closer, correcting his trajectory, no matter which way the shadow moved. No one from the village seemed to notice the boy’s absence – or how the shadows moved to block the boy’s return path.

“Hello?” the boy called, glancing around him as if he had lost track of the deep darkness.

Slowly, the shadows moved closer, silent and careful.

“Is… someone there?”

“Yes…” murmured the shadows, causing the boy to start and spin around.

“Who are you?”

“Someone… No one…”

“Why are you out here?”

“Curiosity kills, you know…”

“But… you should come join the fair. You’ll have fun, promise!” the boy grinned, stepping even close to the shadow.

The silhouette drew back, growling in distaste. “No…”

“How come? I promise you’ll like it. Everyone would be happy to have someone new at the fair,” the boy persisted.

But the shadows turned away, scoffing. “No…”

“Is it because you don’t know how to dance? Or maybe you’re shy? You know how to have fun, right?”

The shadows were silent, even as the boy moved around to stare into the silhouette’s golden eyes.

“My name’s Jack,” the boy grinned, holding out his hand. “What’s yours?”

Silence reigned for several more moments before the shadows drew up and covered the silhouette more fully. “… I do not remember…”

The boy tilted his head, confusion clear in his eyes. “You don’t remember your name? Huh… do you… want me to give you one?”

“No,” was the only answer the shadows seemed to know.

“Well… you don’t really need a name to join the fair, I guess. Uh, but I think I’ll call you…B-”

The silhouette sighed. “If you insist on calling me anything…” the shadow growled, gold eyes narrowing, “then… call me… Pitch…” The silhouette nodded; that was all he could remember from before the dark took over.

“Pitch? Okay,” Jack smiled, beaming and incredibly pleased. “So, do you know how to dance? We do a lot of square dancing and couple dances during the fair.”

“I am not going to this… fair…” Pitch dismissed the idea out of hand, turning away from Jack. “Go back to your… ‘fun’…”

But Jack got in the way of the shadows again. “Whoa, whoa, where are you going? Why won’t you join us?”

Pitch frowned and turned away again. “I do not belong there… Leave me be…”

“Why?” Jack questioned, stepping up beside the shadows. “Everyone is welcome at the fair.”

The shadows growled, eyes narrowed. “You ask too many questions… leave me alone…”

“No,” Jack said stubbornly, crossing his arms. “I won’t leave you alone. No one likes to be alone.”

“I do,” Pitch growled.

“Then I’ll make you a deal,” Jack grinned, “one dance. If you can give me one dance, I’ll let you be alone.”

The shadows were silent for a time and finally snorted in contempt and disgust. “You think you can bargain with me, child? Leave me _be_.”

“Not until you dance with me,” Jack stepped in front of the shadows, his chin set stubbornly. He crossed his arms, staring defiantly up at the silhouette. “Dance with me.”

Pitch drew himself up, towering above Jack. “Leave me alone.” The shadows stepped to the side, to walk past Jack, but the boy persisted and grabbed at the silhouette. Pitch hissed when the boy’s hand closed on his arm, turning glaring eyes down at the boy.

“ _Release me_ ,” Pitch growled.

But Jack shook his head, not deterred in the least. Instead, he grinned. “Come on, just one dance. It won’t hurt you to dance!”

“Why should I dance with you?” the shadow growled, low and deadly.

“Because I won’t leave you alone otherwise and I’ll just keep bugging you. Stuck to you like a tick.”

“…that is an accurate analogy…” Pitch murmured, glaring at the hand still holding his arm.

“Huh?” Jack tilted his head, blinking in confusion. Then he shook his head and grinned. “So does that mean you’ll dance with me?”

“…that is not what I said…” Pitch shook his head, pulling at his arm.

But true to his word, Jack did not let go. “Dance with me or deal with me.”

“… why are you so persistent in this?”

“Because I want to dance with you. You looked lonely.”

Pitch did not respond to that, merely turned away and shook his head again. After a few moments, the silhouette finally turned back and murmured, “One dance.”

Jack grinned in triumph. “Awesome!” The boy tugged Pitch’s arms into place and showed the silhouette how to position his feet. “Now, since you’re taller, you lead!”

But the silhouette was still and looked down at the boy, at the positioning and everything. His eyes showed clear confusion. He didn’t seem to know how to dance.

“Uh… unless you want me to lead? I can show you how and then you can take over the lead,” Jack supplied, smiling a little.

Pitch gave a barely perceptible nod, not liking to admit that he didn’t know how to do something.

With a grin plastered to his lips, Jack did just that. He took it slow at first, showing Pitch the different steps in the simple dance. Pitch didn’t seem to be learning, no matter how much it was just following a pattern.

“Uh, you kinda suck at this…” Jack laughed a little, grinning in his way. “Take it slow and you’ll get it!”

The silhouette grumbled, attempting to dance once more. He was determined now to prove this child wrong.

Finally, he had it. Pitch took the lead in the dance and took Jack through the steps, slow at first before speeding up. Confidence sped his steps, and he really did have it down.

Jack grinned and laughed in delight –

And Pitch found himself grinning in return. What... what was happening?

In his confusion, Pitch faltered and stopped, quickly stepping away from Jack.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Why’d you stop? Didn’t you like dancing?”

Pitch did not respond. He drew back, far into the shadows, turned on his heel, and fled. This was not where he belonged.

No matter how much he yearned for it.

-FIN-


	9. Can't Beat Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU Fic

# 9 - CAN’T BEAT ME

The tent flap swept aside, letting in the chill winds of the mountains. The command tent aid immediately went to the General’s side, leaning in to report on the camp activities. But he wasn’t particularly in the mood to hear how many wenches had wandered into camp from the neighboring town – again – so the General waved the aid off.

“Since you’re here, make yourself useful and fetch wine for my staff,” General Pitch growled, waving him toward the wine pitchers. Golden eyes slid over the map pinned to the table, at the markers showing the Imperial troops and the enemies. The idiots had gone to ground after the last battle, delving into guerilla warfare and it was their job as the Imperial army to find and capture – or kill – the Daemon army.

At least, what’s left of it.

Imperial troops never left an enemy soldier roaming.

After the last battle, General Pitch had captured the Daemon commander. The poor sop and the rest of the captives had been moved to the main camp and the army’s base. Those captives would be tortured and information passed back to the General. Once the last dregs of the Daemon army were in their clutches, the Imperial army could finally return to base.

With a low growl, the General glanced about at his commanders, watching their expressions and listening closely to their words. Not too many had good strategies for guerilla warfare from what he heard. Hell, most of them would walk into an easily avoidable ambush.

“ _Enough_ ,” the General said when he’d heard enough. “You idiots are going to get the men killed if you employ _any_ of those tactics.” His eyes moved from one commander to the next, making eye contact with each of them. “Have the scouts go in and start setting traps. One foot per scout, to guard their back. Make sure the foot knows ‘leave no trace’ or the scout is dead. Increase perimeter patrols to every ten minutes. Every half hour, I want mounted patrols on a wider circuit of the camp. Patrols in camp need to be at least six foot with two mounted following at a discreet pace. Limit alcohol intake of the men; I want everyone ready for an attack on the camp. If they catch us off guard, they could do some damage before disappearing into the forest.”

Only two of his gathered commanders had ever seen or fought in guerilla warfare. They were very much aware of how costly such a thing could be for a large army and nodded gravely a few times.

“Sir, isn’t that a little extreme?” one of the noble-born commanders asked – a soft fool who bought his commission rather than earn it.

“This is a different kind of war than what your momma’s ballads taught, _my lord_ ,” General Pitch growled, leveling one of his well-known seething glares at the man. “And if you question my orders again, I’ll string you up for insubordination.”

That made the fool gulp, loudly, and nod in agreement.

“Any _other_ questions?” A round of ‘no, sirs’ and Pitch straightened. “Good. Dismissed.”

The commanders saluted and left the tent, letting in more of the chilly mountain air. Pitch glanced at his aid, who was clearing the glasses left by the commanders. “Send for the mages.”

The aid bowed and left the glasses by the wine pitcher, disappearing from the tent. After a stretch, the General poured himself a glass of wine and sat at the command table, going over their markers again. If this map was right, and if their information from their last captive held true, a number of Daemon troops had holed themselves up in a box canyon with one entrance, easily defendable.

Except from the cliffs.

Pitch studied the map and decided it was a good idea to send a few scouts to find a way up to the cliffs for their archers. Then while the archers thinned the Daemon troops, the cavalry could storm the entrance. Foot soldiers wouldn’t be needed in that battle, except for clean-up.

“Commander Trell should be able to handle that easily…” Pitch muttered to himself, sipping at the wine.

Moments later, the aid held aside the tent flap for a dozen or so mages as they filed into the command tent. The General didn’t get up, only waved them over to the map.

“What progress?”

The highest-ranking mage stepped forward and bowed slightly, showing the respect that Pitch was due. “Our scrying attempts are still being blocked. All we know for certain is there are at least a dozen or so groups in the forest. We know if they’re communicating, but not how. Our best guess is someone or several someones has the gift of mind speech. It would explain how they're coordinating their attacks and how they keep avoiding patrols. Anyone with that gift can sense a mind from miles away.”

“And how do we get around that?”

The mage smiled. “We’ve almost solved that problem. We spelled the tents and the perimeter poles in the camp to block the gift at a ten-mile radius.”

“Why spell all the tents then?”

“It adds strength to the spell, sir. The more items with the spell, the larger the radius. At this point, we’ve got the immediate forest around the camp and a good distance into the forest as well. If they come upon the camp now, they wouldn’t be able to communicate with each other or sense any of our minds,” the mage smiled, rather pleased with their work.

“It sounds like you’ve solved the problem… so why did you say almost?” Pitch asked, raising an eyebrow.

The mage’s smile faltered. “While we were working our spells, one of our number collapsed. He had frostbite on his fingers and toes and it took several of us to save his digits.”

“Frostbite,” Pitch repeated, completely unconvinced. “It is far too warm for frostbite.”

“Yes, sir, it is. That’s how we know there is a mage still alive with the enemy.”

The General glared then, rising slowly. “You told me you sensed no such thing after the last battle. You told me any mages you _had_ sensed were killed.”

The mage balked and gulped, taking a slow step back. “Yes, sir, I was wrong. I still don’t sense any mages but our own – but none of us work with ice or water. I can’t sense any mages in the forest.”

Pitch growled and paced from the desk to the wine pitchers, refilling his glass. “So there’s a mage you are completely unaware of and he’s working to stop your own spells. I suggest, then, that you find this mage and disable him.” Then the General turned slowly, a cruel smile on his lips. “But don’t kill him.”

“Sir?”

“I have plans for this interfering mage…” the General purred, a predatory gleam in his eyes, “and I doubt you want to be privy to it. Now go. Finish your spells and find the enemy’s mage.”

~~~

Every shadow could hold an enemy. Every noise could be an ambush. Jack flinched as the wind rustled the leaves, only relaxing when the noise stopped. The night sounds of the forest were muted, partly due to the small party of fighters, scouts, and Jack. The young mage clutched his staff tightly, eyes darting at every shadow.

Skittish. That’s what he was.

But after feeling someone searching for him every five minutes, who could blame the mage? Someone or some _thing_ was looking for him and doing their hardest to pierce the spell of concealment around the troops.

That could only mean one thing: a mage – or a group of mages – from the Dara Empire. And if Imperial mages were searching for him, it would only be a matter of time before they found him. Jack knew he couldn’t risk the troops assigned to him with those mages on his heels.

Jack also knew the Captain would never stand for that. His job was to see Jack safely back to the capital and would never let Jack take off just to save the soldiers.

Adjusting his grip on his staff, Jack glanced up at the canopy, wishing fervently that he could see the stars or the moon from here. But the trees blocked the light of the moon and the view of the celestial body. Sighing inwardly, the mage glanced back down to his footing, very glad indeed that his boots were thin-soled fur and leather boots. Otherwise, he’d make more noise than a stampeding boar.

Well, maybe not that much noise. But to his ears, it might as well be.

The fighter behind Jack caught the mage when he stumbled on a concealed root, keeping him from crashing to the ground. Jack nodded his thanks to the fighter and kept a careful watch on the ground. Gods above, it was too damned dark to see well – but it was too dangerous to risk even a hooded lantern.

Even a mage light could be spotted by the enemy.

The fighter in front of Jack stopped suddenly, holding a hand back to keep Jack from running into him.

“What’s going on?” the mage murmured, loud enough only for the fighter’s ears.

“Captain’s called a halt. Something ahead.”

Jack nodded and passed the word back, knowing the others behind would be curious. After a moment, the rear scout darted towards the front. Jack glanced behind them and saw what had made the scout move.

There was a patrol coming.

With a hushed word and a few hand motions, the Captain split their group up and moved them off the trail. The fighter behind Jack pulled the mage undercover, shielding the mage with his own body. Though Jack appreciated the gesture, he chaffed that he couldn’t even protect himself from foot soldiers.

As the patrol from behind grew closer, Jack’s straining ears and eyes caught the sound and sight of another patrol, mounted, closing from the front.

_So that’s what the halt was called for… two patrols and no way to go around them. If they see us or scent us, we’re dead. My concealment won’t stand up to dogs if they have them._

The Gods were obviously looking elsewhere. Jack caught the sound of panting dogs and his heart sank to his boots.

_Well. We’re dead._

The mage glanced around himself, seeing the fear rise and the hope die in the eyes of the soldiers around him. They knew what the dogs meant.

Slowly, those behind him started backing up further into the forest, hoping to at least get away with their lives. Jack followed their lead, tugging once on the fighter and backing up slowly, watching where he put his feet.

**_Snap_.**

The dogs howled and barked wildly, their handlers letting them have their lead. The patrols whirled about, drawing swords and bows. The mounted patrol charged to the east, the opposite side of the road from Jack, flushing out the fighters hidden there.

Then a hand was at Jack’s arm and pulling him into a thicket, a hand quickly covering his mouth. But Jack wouldn’t have screamed; he recognized the feel of those hands. It was Captain Talmy and a quick glance confirmed it. The Captain had pulled two other fighters into the thicket with him and they stayed crouched, weapons ready.

“Go,” the Captain whispered into Jack’s ear, shoving him further into the thicket, “get to the camp in the canyon.”

Jack hesitated for a second but the Captain shoved him again. He didn’t need to be told a third time, knowing he was definitely not going to be of any help in this fight. Jack picked himself up and squeezed further into the thicket. He kept his cloak tight around his body, being careful not to step on the bottom. Tripping wouldn’t do him any good at this point. Once the mage was clear of the thorns, he kept close to the ground and bolted, holding his staff close to his side to avoid any sort of obstacles. Branches full of leaves scratched and pulled at his face and cloak, trying to capture him, trap him, and keep him from escaping.

A shout from behind only added speed to his steps, his heart pounding in his ears. Fear coursed through his veins and clogged his throat, making breathing difficult.

But it wasn’t just fear. His mage sense warned him too late; a spell closed around him, a halo of pale blue, cutting off his air.

Jack stumbled and fell to the ground, his staff held in numbing fingers. Only his arms held him up as the air slowly drained from his lungs. Jack gasped, eyes bulging, as darkness closed in on his sight. With one last, desperate gasp, the mage collapsed on the forest floor, his sight eaten by shadows.

-TO BE CONTINUED-


	10. Can't Keep Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Implied Rape

**-Continued from 9-**

# 10 - CAN’T KEEP ME 

It wasn’t often that things went as planned. It was even rarer for things to go as planned, ahead of schedule. The General smirked down at the white-haired youth, the mage who had been such a thorn in his side. But now, the little mage was tied and gagged, bowed and beaten, on his knees in front of Pitch.

Delicious.

Pitch could almost taste the fear rolling off the mage and he delighted in the little shakes of the mage’s shoulders. With a smirk, the General reached out and grasped the boy’s chin in his fingers, making the mage look him in the eyes.

“You won’t escape us again, little mage,” the General purred, chuckling darkly. “With you out of the field, the army will decimate your friends… and you? You will help…”

At those words, the mage’s eyes widened and he tried to pull away. Pitch smirked and switched his grip to the boy’s hair, keeping the mage in place.

“Oh, yes… you’re going to give us all the information you have… and you will not be able to resist…” the General chuckled, then motioned for the Imperial mages to step forward. Pitch straightened, releasing the boy’s hair. “Take what information he holds from his mind.”

The mages nodded in assent, though several of them were not happy to do this to a fellow mage. Should they turn, however, they all knew that no one would stand up for them. No one would defend them. So the mages did as they were told and drew out the knowledge held within the young mage.

As the spell completed, the mage cried out into his gag and sagged forward, tears streaming down his cheeks. His frame shook in both pain and fear; he did not move when the mages spoke.

“The box canyon holds what is left of their troops. That is where they were taking him when the patrols encountered the stragglers. The infamous Captain Talmy was in charge of getting the mage back to the capital,” the leader of the Imperial mages reported, keeping his eyes away from the young mage kneeling in front of them. “He’s the son of a politician, sir, and his father paid the Captain quite handsomely to see to his safety.”

“In all your poking around, did you find the boy’s name?” the General purred, sitting comfortably behind his desk.

“Yes, sir,” the high-ranking mage replied, “the mage’s name is Jack. His father is Senator-Tsar Lunar.”

Pitch chuckled, a smirk spreading his lips. “Lunar, hmm? How interesting. I’m sure he’d pay the Empire quite well to have his son back… if we decide to give him back…” The General waved his hand at the mages, shooing them out the tent. “Write a report on what you discovered and give it to my aid. I’ll look over it before sending it back to the Capital. And send for Commander Trell.”

The mages bowed and left, slipping out the tent without looking back; they knew better than to question the General’s intentions.

Smoothly, the General stood from his chair and strode to the slumped mage. Just as smoothly, Pitch knelt on one knee and threaded one hand through the boy’s stark-white hair, gripping the threads and pulling the boy’s head back. Pitch soaked up the mage’s look of utter despair and defeat, cheeks shining with tears. The General lifted his other hand and wiped the tears from the boy’s cheeks.

“Oh, Jack… you have no idea how annoying you have been…” the General purred, stroking the boy’s cheek. The mage shivered under the predatory touch, one eye shut tight, the other partly closed. “But soon… soon you’ll find out just how much you cost me in the way of time and effort…”

The General moved his hand from the boy’s cheek to his arm, releasing his hair as Pitch pulled Jack to his feet by his arm. With a few quick steps, Pitch shoved the mage past the partitioning curtain leading to the General’s sleeping area. There, the General secured the boy to a stake in the ground, pushing the boy back to the ground.

With a soft grunt, the boy dropped to his rear and turned away from the General, not even bothering to look up when Pitch left. But the General didn’t care.

He returned to the main area of the tent as Commander Trell made his appearance. The Commander saluted and approached Pitch when given permission.

“You sent for me, sir?”

“I did, yes. I have a special assignment for you, Commander,” the General began, striding to the map on the table. He motioned for the Commander to join him and pointed to an area on the map. “There’s a box canyon here; that’s where the remaining Daemon troops are. I want you to send scouts to find a way up to the cliffs. Position archers up there, as many as you can fit. Use the archers and rain arrows down on the enemy. While the archers are at work, position your cavalry at the entrance to the canyon. Run them down. No prisoners, no survivors.”

The Commander studied the map and nodded affirmative. “What of the mage?”

“Captured just last night and hauled in with the dawn. You won’t have any problems from mages. Take a few if you’re still worried.”

Again, the Commander nodded. “Then by your leave, I’ll take three mages just in case. They might even be useful in the battle.”

The General chuckled at that. “I wouldn’t count on it. You always need to have some fighters distracted with the mage’s wellbeing and it isn’t always worth it. But take the mages. You never know what the enemy is likely to do.”

Commander Trell grinned. “Understood, General. I’ll send the scouts out within the hour.” A salute later, and the Commander was gone.

Chuckling to himself, the General turned on his heel and moved back into his private sleeping quarters. The mage was there, tugging at the bindings holding him to the stake. At Pitch’s entrance, the mage froze and turned ice-blue eyes up to stare at the General.

~~~

Golden eyes stared down a sharp nose, seeming to look right into Jack’s soul. He shivered at that hawk-like look, but couldn’t look away. Like a mouse trapped by a hawk.

The ‘hawk’ moved first, seeming to glide across the floor, toward the pile of cushions and blankets on one side of the partitioned area. Jack’s eyes followed the Dara General, fear chilling his veins. The General was tall, taller than anyone he’d seen before, with slick black hair. His uniform was so alien to Jack, even after seeing the Imperial officers and soldiers. His uniform, unlike those of the other officers and soldiers, was pure black and seemed to shadow his every move. There was something _alive_ about the uniform and the armor.

That frightened him nearly as much as the look in the man’s eyes.

Jack swallowed with effort, pulling his legs closer to his chest. His frame shook slightly with the effort to keep a hold of his sanity. His rational self was telling him to make a bid for more time. Time was all the others needed to rescue him – right? Hadn’t father paid enough for the entire Daemon army to come after him?

_But that would just get more people killed_ , said that annoyingly right conscious. _If you want to escape, you have to do it yourself. I can’t depend on others at this point. I don’t even know if they are coming…_

_And I don’t know if they’ll survive that attack these stupid imperials were planning…_

The General sat cross-legged on the blankets, leaning into the piles of cushions behind him. His eyes never left the paralyzed mage, even when he adjusted to get a more comfortable seating position.

“You know, Jack… if you hadn’t kept my mages from the stragglers… we could have been done with this little conflict some time ago… and I could be back in the Capital, enjoying a nice, hot soak… but instead, I’m stuck in the field chasing your little friends…” the General purred lazily, running a hand through his jet-black hair. “I’ll be returning to the Capital soon enough, though. And now, I’ll have a little prize to bring home and enjoy…” The Dara General smirked, golden eyes taking in every detail of the mage.

That was when Jack realized just how much trouble he was really in. This General wasn’t going to kill him. He probably wasn’t even going to torture him. At least, not real torture.

_He’s going to make me a slave_.

Again, Jack swallowed and pulled as far away from the General as his bonds would allow. The movement only made the man tilt his head back and laugh, a cruel smile on his lips.

“You can’t escape me, Jack…” the General purred, slowly sitting up and getting to his feet. A few leisurely steps and the General stood above Jack. “No matter how badly you want to, you won’t escape me…” the General smirked, kneeling down on one knee before the mage.

Remembering what the General did before, the mage quickly pulled his head away – but the Imperial was faster and his hand gripped painfully on Jack’s hair. The gag muffled his cry as the General pulled the boy closer by his hair.

“I am the First General of his Imperial Highness’ Army,” the General growled, low and warning, “I am Pitch Nacht. And you are mine to command. You are my captive and I will break you if you defy me.”

Jack whimpered, shrinking in on himself. It _would_ be the First General of the Imperial army that caught him. The feared, infamous General Pitch – and he lived up to that reputation. The man was impressive, intimidating, and altogether terrifying. No small wonder the Daemon troops were so threadbare and worn after fighting a battle with _him_.

No one won against _him_.

_Maybe I shouldn’t fight him. That would be the smart thing. Keep my head down and look for an opportunity to escape. If I don’t succeed… well, I doubt I’ll live to tell the tale. Death is better than whatever he has planned._

“Do you understand me, little mage?” Pitch growled in that same dangerous, predatory tone.

Tears in his eyes, the mage nodded as much as he was able. But it was enough to satisfy the General.

With a quick stroke, the General used a dagger previously unseen to slice through the bonds keeping Jack tied to the stake. Then Pitch grabbed Jack’s arm and pulled him to his feet, forcing the mage to take the few remaining steps to the cushions and blankets. Pitch wasted no time on formality and shoved the mage down onto the blankets. With his hands tied behind his back, Jack did his best to land on his shoulder rather than his face. At least his shoulder wouldn’t break from such an impact.

Pitch chuckled and smoothly sat on the blanket next to Jack, stretching out into a lounging position. He leaned against the pillows and pulled the mage closer to him, threading his long fingers through the boy’s hair.

“Time to see if you really understand your place here, Jack…” the General purred, toying with the front of Jack’s shirt. With nails sharp as talons, Pitch ripped the fabric of the mage’s shirt, cutting the mage’s flesh shallowly. Jack gasped at the pain, trying to pull away, but the General had a firm arm around the boy. The little struggle made Pitch chuckle, a smirk on his lips as he toyed with the waistband of the mage’s trousers.

“Not used to pain, are you, Jack?” Pitch purred, leaning down and kissing the mage’s neck. A shiver ran down his spine at the strange action, and again the boy tried to pull away. Pitch ‘tsked’ and murmured into Jack’s ear, “Stop fighting me, little mage… you will not enjoy the result…”

Jack stilled at the words, remembering his decision not to fight.

_Just endure. Endure until you can escape._

Taking a gulp of air, the young mage forced his body to relax, however slowly.

_I will escape…_

Again, the General chuckled and ran his fingers over the mage’s skin, eyes slowly taking in every inch of the mage’s flesh. A shiver ran down Jack’s spine as he took another steadying breath.

_Damn him…_

Pitch was clearly in no hurry, his fingers toying with Jack’s flesh and what remained of his clothing. His threadbare breeches didn’t hold up long against those nails that were far sharper than should be possible. The shreds of his breeches fell to the blankets as the General forced Jack to straddle Pitch’s lap. Jack glanced away, cheeks burning with shame and injured pride.

_Being forced into nudity and then… then straddling him…_

The General ran his fingertips up the mage’s chest, smirking at each flinch of pain; Pitch wasn’t watching his nails. More likely, each prick was on purpose. Every new rivulet of scarlet made the mage flinch or hiss.

_I’m not pampered… but Gods above, this hurts…_

Then the General leaned up and ran one hand lightly down Jack’s spine, sharp nails barely touching the mage’s skin. His other hand traveled down the boy’s side, coming to rest at Jack’s hip. The mage jolted and yelped just then, as the General’s hand descended onto Jack’s bare ass.

“ _Don’t touch me!”_ the mage shrieked, his inner tempest coming out full blast. The temperature in the tent plummeted and icicles formed on every surface-

Until a fist collided with Jack’s face. The mage landed hard on his back, the breath stolen from his chest. The chill in the tent vanished just as suddenly.

Blinking hard, the mage looked up through blurring eyes into the cruel face of his captor.

Pitch leaned down and caressed Jack’s ear with his lips, hands supporting him on either side of the boy’s head. “Do not try that again, my little mage…” the predatory voice of the General purred into his ear, one hand coming up and slowly stroking the mage’s hair. “I do not like marring your face, so it will be more painful next time…”

The General’s grip on his hair turned painful as Pitch practically dragged him by his hair back to the blankets and pillows, laying him on his stomach. The General leaned over Jack’s back and kissed the boy between his shoulder blades, slowly running his nails down the boy’s sides.

“Fight me again, Jack…” the General dared, a cruel smirk clear in his voice. “Fight me for all you’re worth…”

-To be Continued-


	11. Can't Break Me

# 11 - CAN’T BREAK ME

Jack cried out in pain and fear, hands reaching out for anything to grab onto – but with his hands tied tight with a silk sash, he could reach nothing. The heated body of General Pitch pressed down upon his body and he writhed in pain. Pitch chuckled darkly into his ear as tears ran down his cheeks, following in the trail of so many other drops before it.

How many times had this happened since his capture? He’d lost track after the first week. He didn’t even remember how long it had been since his capture.

All Jack knew was an overwhelming pain and the clutching hands of fear. His tears meant nothing to his tormentor. His screams only pleased the General. And his fear? His fear was the cherry on top of Pitch’s pie. His fear only stroked Pitch’s ego.

Pitch coveted his fear.

That knowledge terrified Jack, made his blood run cold.

When next he woke, it was to the rough shaking of his captor; the General never woke him up like this. Something must be going on for him to be waking him up at all.

“Get up,” Pitch ordered once he saw Jack was awake. The General stood and went past the curtain of the private sleeping quarters. Jack could hear voices in the main area of the tent, a lot of voices. They weren’t worried – most of them sounded excited.

Curious, Jack pulled on a tunic and breaches – about the only clothes Pitch allowed him – and carefully got to his feet. His backside sparked with pain, shooting lightning up his spine. Biting back any indication that it hurt to even stand, the mage slowly made his way to the curtain parting the two areas. Aware of what would happen should he enter the main area, Jack only parted the curtain slightly and looked out.

Servants bustled around the tent, removing furniture, packs, blankets, pillows – they were packing up the command tent. In the middle of the chaos, the General stood with two of his officers, giving them final orders over the map table. Then Pitch motioned to a servant and the map was taken away to be packed up. The imposing General then preceded two servants toward the private sleeping area.

Jack moved away from the curtain and took a seat somewhere out of the way. He knew that Pitch wouldn’t let him roam without supervision for long. Or some sort of physical restraint. The mage restraints only did so much.

Moments after Jack had settled, Pitch parted the curtains and ushered the servants inside. The servants went immediately to work and the General – imposing, tall, high brow and dark eyes – went directly to Jack.

“Get up,” the General ordered, his mouth set in a frown. “We’re leaving.” For a moment, Jack didn’t move – and Pitch took it as a refusal. With a small growl in his voice, the General grabbed Jack by his arm and hauled him to his feet, his other hand gripping the mage’s stark-white hair in a painful fist. “Do not try me, Jack. I am in no mood for your games today. Do as I say and do it quickly. Understood?”

Jack nodded as well as he was able, keeping his expression neutral. _I’m like a trained dog... but not for long._ With another growl, the General released Jack’s hair and shoved him toward the curtains. The nearest servant pulled the curtains aside, letting Pitch and Jack through. The General never let go of Jack’s arm, dragging him as he strode out of the chaotic tent. Waiting at the entrance of the tent were two huge stallions – dark as night with bulging muscles, huge hooves, and beautiful mains.

Indeed, they were beautiful. Terrifyingly so.

With another jerk of his arm, Pitch shoved Jack toward the nearest stallion. He let go – finally – and gestured at the soldier standing nearby. “Watch him. Do not let him out of your sight.” Then the General turned cold, cruel eyes to Jack. “If you even think about escaping, you will live to regret it for the rest of your life.”

Then the General turned sharply on his heel and threw aside the tent entrance, his dark form melting into the shadows within.

A little snort left the mage of ice and he glanced at the soldier watching him. “What’s making him so antsy?”

The soldier gave Jack a measuring look, then sighed. “Orders from higher up is all I know. So don’t talk to me, I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Jack shrugged. “Fine.” _Damn… where are we going?_

~~~

“General, the last of the prisoners are leaving camp,” Commander Trell reported when Pitch strode back in, a black cloud of contained anger.

And Pitch was beyond angry. Orders from the Capital – from the Emperor himself – instructed Pitch and the army to return. The General was expected to present himself – and Jack – to the Emperor upon arrival.

The Emperor wanted Jack for himself. That much was obvious from what was _not_ said in the orders. Pitch knew how to read between the lines; he had to know, or he wouldn’t have made it as far as he had. Pitch hoped the Emperor just wanted to gloat and not take Jack from him.

_He’s mine, damnit. I won’t give him up without a fight._

“Sir?”

Pitch shot a sharp look at the Commander who dared interrupt his thoughts and frowned deeply. “ _What_?”

He was rewarded by a very visible gulp. Commander Trell cleared his throat and found his voice, “Sir, the servants are ready to take down the command tent.”

“Fine, fine,” Pitch waved his hand dismissively, then led the remaining officers out of the tent. Several servants bustled out after them, then the tent collapsed on itself. Like worker bees, the servants descended on the command tent and had it rolled up and packed in just under five minutes.

_Efficient as always._

Pitch turned his back on the servants and leveled a glare down his nose at the young mage who stood by the General’s stallions. Silver bangles glinted in the early morning light – the mage bonds keeping Jack from using his magic – and Pitch smirked.

_Mine_.

The General took the few steps to trap the boy between himself and his stallions. The huge beasts snorted and snuffled, reaching their noses out to be scratched. Pitch obliged, one at a time, keeping one hand behind his back.

His eyes, though, he kept on Jack. Pitch could just imagine what the boy would look like with a velvet lined collar. Something to keep his skin from bruising, but sturdy enough for chains.

After all, Pitch had to guarantee his prize would stay where he wanted.

“We’re ready to move, sir,” Commander Trell reported from behind him. With a nod, Pitch stepped past Jack and swung up into his saddle. Before the mage had time to react, Pitch grabbed him and hauled Jack up into the saddle in front of him.

“You ride with me,” Pitch growled into Jack’s ear, one arm wrapped securely around Jack’s waist. “I’m not letting you out of my sight…”

~~~

_When are we going to take a break?_

Jack winced for the umpteenth time as the pommel dug into his gut. The horn, on the other hand, dug right into his ribs. The mage knew by now he was bruised. After nearly three weeks of riding in front of Pitch, even with the easy gait of the giant warhorse, he was uncomfortable, sore, and bruised.

There was one good thing to come out of this sudden march: Pitch was too busy to use him every night.

Not once since they’d moved camps. General Pitch just didn’t seem to have the time to do what he clearly wanted.

As if the General read his thoughts, Pitch rested his hand on the mage’s neck, nails lightly grazing the curve of his nape. “Soon… we’ll see the walls of the Capital soon.”

Of that, Jack was well aware. They’d passed the first inner border five days ago; the Capital of the Dara Empire was well guarded with three inner borders, each two days apart. The last one was the walls of the Capital itself-

And there they were. As the stallion climbed to the top of a rise, the walls of the Crown City speared the sky. Jack didn’t know how tall those walls were, but it was nothing to scoff about. The Crown Jewel of the Dara Empire glittered in the winter afternoon, shining as only a prosperous city can. Farmlands rolled out on every side of the walls, spanning as far as the eye could see in every direction. The road the army marched on was one of five main roads throughout the Empire. Patrols road the roads every day, garrisons stationed here and there to keep bandits – and rebels like him – at bay.

One thing Jack could say about the Empire, they knew how to keep prosperous. They knew how to keep the streets of their cities clean, too.

But Jack didn’t like their methods. That’s one of the many reasons Lord-Tsar Daemon hadn’t bowed down to the Emperor when their troops came steamrolling north.

_Gods, if they knew that Lunar was only my uncle… if they **knew** who my father was… thank the gods that I could keep that from his mages…_

When his icy blue eyes spotted what could only be the palace, Jack remembered something his father had once told him. There was a rumor about the Emperor, that he had once tried to become a god. No one knew if he succeeded; Jack didn’t even know if it was true.

But if it was, the Emperor could tear out whatever information he wanted. And it wouldn’t be gentle, it wouldn’t be a pinprick.

Jack knew what happened to people when information was ripped from their minds, not like the way the mages had invaded his mind. Some were lucky and died in the process. Others… others were left barely alive, without enough wits to know what was going on around them. Others were driven mad by the experience.

Dark thoughts settled around him and he wished fervently that if the Emperor tried to rip his mind apart for information that it would kill him. He didn’t want to live like that…

“Welcome to Sjene, Jack,” the General purred into his ear, his arm tightening around him. That wasn’t the only thing that tightened; Jack felt the General become incredibly tense as they passed the first gate. Pitch seemed to relax a little once they’d passed the inner gate – but Jack wasn’t fooled.

The General didn’t want to be here. After all his posturing out in the field about his nice and comfy home and hating the field – _he didn’t want to be here_. Something in Sjene made Pitch tense. And Jack intended to find out.

At a gesture from the General, much of the army melted away into the city, returning to the barracks or loved ones. Only the command staff, servants, and the command bodyguards remained, along with a few soldiers headed deeper into the city.

But as they got closer to the Palace, one by one the command staff melted away with their personal servants and guards to their own homes. Finally, all that was left was Pitch, Jack, a few servants, and Pitch’s guards. They stopped at a grand manor, turning into the courtyard, the giant stallions snorting with anticipation. Stable hands poured into the courtyard and took reins. Then household servants came and took away luggage and bags; the servants from the field disappeared with them. Most of the bodyguards melted away with the servants, leaving only two to stand with Pitch and Jack.

Pitch lifted Jack off his mount first, letting one of the bodyguards take control of the mage while the General dismounted. Grumbling under his breath at the manhandling, Jack used the time to glance around the courtyard, now empty of servants and most of the horses. A water fountain splashed in the center of the cobblestone courtyard, manicured lawns sprawled out from the cobblestone, and became cultured gardens. An orchard rose up in the center of the gardens and wrapped around the manor – the rest, Jack couldn’t see. On the other side of the courtyard, the stables bustled with activity - and the stables were huge.

_Just like his horses…_

“Hitch up the carriage with Kira, Ilya, Len, and Tori. Make sure they’re groomed properly; I don’t want to make a bad impression on the Emperor this late in the game,” Jack heard Pitch tell the stable hand holding the big warhorses.

_…he named his horses… and he knows all their names? Who_ is _this guy?_

When Jack turned his eyes back to Pitch, the General was already reaching out to take his arm. Jack resisted the urge to jerk away and just let Pitch take him inside. He was in the Capital of the Dara Empire; there was nowhere to run _to_.

Long strides led the two of them to the great doors of the manor house, which opened wide at their approach – the bodyguards mere steps behind them. Several household servants met them at the doors and bowed to Pitch, greeting him.

“Clean him up and make him presentable,” Pitch ordered one of the maids, shoving Jack into a group of them. “He’s being presented to his Imperial Highness.” Then the General turned to another group, “And you, draw a bath for me. _I_ need to be presentable.”

~~~

“Damn unmanageable hair…” Pitch muttered under his breath as he combed down the dark strands of his hair. Even gel didn’t do anything for his hair; it did what it wanted despite his best efforts.

Finally, Pitch gave up and used the witch stone to keep his hair the way he wanted: slicked back and _down_. Not for the first time, he was very glad of his purchase. With a smirk, the General put down the witch stone and adjusted his uniform. Satisfied, he turned on his heel and strode out the door, boots thumping with each step. He made a few turns until he reached the guest quarters, where the maids were cleaning up his mage. As per usual, he entered without knocking – _this is my house, I do what I want_ – and his lips spread into a smirk at the sight before him.

Jack was clean, clothed in a midnight blue silk tunic and breaches, embroidered with silver, belted over with a pale blue silk sash, and soft black deerskin boots completed the look. The silver bangles on the mage’s wrist glittered in the afternoon light, only adding to the outfit. A simple, yet elegant wardrobe – and perfect for a meeting with the Emperor.

It didn’t show off too much of the supple frame hidden beneath. Pitch hoped that would be enough to make the Emperor lose interest.

With a nod of approval, the General motioned for Jack to follow him. As they walked the halls – two refreshed bodyguards following a few steps behind – Pitch glanced down at the mage. Jack walked silently at his side, a slightly worried expression on his face.

“He won’t take you from me,” the General found himself saying, “I’ll make sure of it.” Then the General faced forward and continued, “You will walk where I walk; I will not drag you through the Palace, but it will not be pleasant if you decide to fight me.”

His voice was so quiet, Pitch almost didn’t catch Jack’s words. “I know I can’t fight you…”

_He’s learned. Good._

“Then perhaps this can be a civilized meeting with the Emperor.”

The manor doors opened as the procession approached. Beyond was the General’s carriage, a beautiful work of black, gold, and silver. The General didn’t use Royal colors – purple and red, namely – and his carriage was nowhere near as grand as the Emperor’s own.

But it was a work of art. And the lean horses hitched to the carriage completed the image magnificently.

~~~

As the doors opened, Jack stopped in his tracks at the sight of the carriage and the horses. Gold and silver played over a base of black, glittering and laughing in the sunlight. There was no straight line on the carriage; it was creativity in its very essence. The horses – what a lame term for creatures so stunning – stood perfectly still, necks curved and heads held high in pride. They even held their tails high, the vain creatures!

But they had every right to be vain. Elegant necks, delicate legs, glittering hooves, shining coats, and plated manes. They were show horses, certainly, but they were the most beautiful creatures Jack had ever seen. And they were just as big as the warhorses Pitch rode in on.

“Every horse in my stables has a purpose,” Jack heard Pitch say, tone full of pride. One look at the General and Jack knew that these creatures weren’t bought; they were bred and raised here. Pitch was beaming with pride at the elegance every mare and stallion displayed.

Then the General was moving again. The footman opened up the carriage door for Pitch holding it open for Jack. When Jack finally moved toward the carriage he noticed what he hadn’t seen before.

Behind the carriage, two warhorses stood, held by a stable boy. The bodyguards moved towards these, swinging up into the saddles and settling like natural-born cavalry.

_Knowing Pitch, they probably are…_

Then the door of the carriage closed behind Jack, the young mage alone with the General for the first time in a long time. Jack expected a lot in that heartbeat as the carriage moved out of the courtyard, hooves clopping on the paved road.

But Pitch didn’t make any sort of move, not even to look at him. The young mage fidgeted in the silence and turned his eyes outward, watching the city roll by but not really seeing any of it.

He didn’t know what to expect when they arrived at the palace. Jack was too nervous to even think of asking Pitch – who seemed to be stewing in his own thoughts – and worried at his lip. The General had said he wouldn’t let the Emperor take him away – but what did that mean?

His thoughts turned to the long trip across the country and he glared at his reflection in the carriage window. Why hadn’t he escaped?

_Because of Pitch. Because of the sentries. Because of these stupid magic binders._

_But those are just excuses, aren’t they? Why didn’t I try to escape?_

_Because I didn’t want to fail._

_I was **afraid**._

“ **Halt**!” The shout jolted Jack out of his thoughts and his eyes fell upon the Palace gates. Several guards in purple and red finery stood with pikes at the closed gates; one of them had called the halt.

A guard came around to the carriage door and opened it, eyeing both passengers.

“Captain, do you want to lose your commission?” a low, dangerous growl came from the shadows of the carriage, golden eyes turning slowly to the door and the palace guard.

The guard started in fear and nearly leapt back from the carriage. “G-General Pitch, forgive me, I didn’t realize you were back from the field!”

“Open the gates before I have your career, Captain.”

The Captain saluted and quickly closed the carriage, the Palace gates opening soon after. Jack eyed Pitch with curiosity – and a touch of admiration.

But something was bothering the General and Jack was all too curious for his own good.

_I’ll figure it out… and if I can, use it to my advantage to get home. He can’t keep me… and he won’t break me… I won’t be an obedient puppy forever._

-To be Continued-


	12. Can't Take Me

# 12 - CAN’T TAKE ME

“Presenting, General Pitch Nacht and Mage Jack Lunar,” the orderly called from the audience chamber. At his words, the great double doors of the chamber opened upon a grand room with high-vaulted ceilings and marble floors. Running down the middle of the room, from the double doors to the raised platform at the end, was a long red and purple carpet spanning several feet in width. On the raised dais sat three thrones, one much larger and a few feet in front of the other two thrones. The larger throne was made of white marble with veins of black running through the stone while the smaller thrones were mirror opposites.

Jack marveled at the grandiose of the entire affair. There must have been at least hundreds of people in the crowd, all dressed in their finest clothing and glittery jewelry. It made the young mage’s head spin.

And upon the huge throne of white marble sat a figure that could have been cut from the same stone. The man upon the throne wore a beautifully crafted crown of gold; spilling from that crown was a waterfall of platinum blonde hair, flowing past the man’s broad shoulders. Pale green eyes saw every movement in the audience chamber. Red fabric embroidered with gold, purple, and silver wove around the man’s body in the form of very flattering clothing.

Before Jack had much time to stare further, the General started down the long runner, his boots thumping with every long stride. The mage strode behind and to the right of Pitch, his own steps much quieter. For every step Pitch took, Jack took three in an effort to keep up with the tall General.

Pitch stopped a good ten feet before the dais, Jack stopping in his place. The General went to one knee, bowing low – and Jack scrambled to follow the example. He didn’t want Pitch to punish him for anything, not after the unspoken threat in Pitch’s voice.

_“Behave while we are here, Jack. We wouldn’t want to give the Emperor any reason to take insult.”_

_Right. Don’t insult the big bad guy._

The mage stared straight down at the carpet, studying the threads and trying to pretend for all his worth that he wasn’t terrified.

“General, wonderful job with the Daemon army,” came a deep, velvety voice from the dais. “Stand, my old friend. I wouldn’t want to keep you on your knees…”

Jack glanced to the General’s back as Pitch rose smoothly. “I appreciate your compliment, Sire; the troops performed admirably in the field.”

“Then they are to be commended!” the Emperor’s voice chuckled, a clear smile in his tone. “I’ll be sure to give them a good bonus for the holiday.” There was a pause and curiosity itched at the back of Jack’s neck. It took a great deal of effort to keep from looking up. “Tell me, General, when can we march on the Daemon Capitol?”

_Reach… the capitol?_

“After armor and weapon checks and a call for provisions, the army will be ready to march on the Daemon capitol within the week. My officers and I estimate we should arrive at the capitol within a month after leaving the Empire,” Pitch reported, “and it will not take long to breach the walls. Pacification will take no more than two weeks.”

_What? But-_

“Good, good,” the Emperor replied, “then work with the Lord Marshal and have the troops ready to march by the end of the week.”

_No! We can’t fight them!_

“As you command,” the General acknowledged.

_I have to stop this attack!_

“Now… on to this …‘Jack Lunar’…” the Emperor purred, and Jack’s neck itched again. It was only too obvious that the Emperor had turned those green eyes to him. “The son of a Senator-Tsar… a simple mage on the battlefield. They _must_ be desperate if they’re willing to let such a high noble out in the field… where he could be captured…” Again, the Emperor paused and Jack heard the rustling of fabric in the stifling audience chamber. “Rise, Jack Lunar. I want to get a good look at you.”

Slowly, biting his lip to keep from bursting out in fury, Jack uncurled and straightened, lifting his eyes to glare daggers at the Emperor.

_Fuck. You. And fuck not insulting you._

But his fury, his anger, the daggers from his eyes only brought a smirk on the Emperor’s marble lips.

“My goodness, if looks could kill…” the Emperor chuckled, leaning against one side of the throne as he adjusted.

_I hope you remain uncomfortable, you warmongering piece of shit._

“So, you’re the little mage that gave my troops so much trouble… looks like you’ve been pacified sufficiently…” the Emperor chuckled, “but I see no reason to give you an opportunity to change that.” The Emperor’s eyes turned back to Pitch, but Jack never looked away from that cruel face. “I know you want to keep him as a prize from the battle, so I will gift him to you. You are keeping him from causing trouble and I’m sure you will do whatever it takes to keep it that way. I am quite sure you’ve considered what will happen if you do not.”

The General bowed his head, “You are gracious, Sire. I will keep him under control.”

_Yeah, I’m sure you will… son of a whore, and I was actually worried about you. Gaia… I will make life_ hell _for you…_

The Emperor leaned back into his throne and waved the two of them off, dismissing. “You have your orders, General. Don’t disappoint me.”

Pitch bowed low; when he saw Jack did not do the same, his hand shot out and grabbed the back of Jack’s head, forcing him to bow to the Emperor. Satisfied with that, the General took hold of the mage’s arm and pulled him into the crowd, glaring at anyone who got close.

“Stay with me,” Pitch growled under his breath into Jack’s ear, “we’re leaving.”

Jack didn’t get a chance to respond; the General held onto Jack’s arm and made his way toward the double doors. It didn’t take long for people to move out of Pitch’s path and the two to reach the doors. The audience orderly waved them through, the guards saluting the General.

Out in the hall, an older man matched Pitch’s steps, even as the General released Jack and their bodyguards fell in line behind them.

“Lord Marshal,” Pitch greeted, nodding his head toward the older man.

“General Pitch,” the Lord Marshal replied, smiling fondly at Pitch. “So, how many troops are we talking for this attack? How many men do I need to provision?”

“Everyone the Capitol and normal activities can spare,” the General replied, rubbing his chin as they strode down the hall. “Come to my home and we’ll talk in more detail. The walls have ears in the Palace… and I would prefer not to speak where my words can be used against me.”

The Lord Marshal nodded in understanding. “Well, I’m not presently busy and this is about the only thing the Emperor has me doing, so if you don’t mind, I’ll trouble you with my presence.”

The General chuckled, glancing at the Lord Marshal, “Why, Aster, I almost thought you enjoyed my presence.”

“Oh, I do, but work always takes precedence,” the Lord Marshal echoed Pitch’s chuckle.

~~~

“Now,” the General began, shutting the door of his study, safely tucked away in his manor, “let’s drop these damned formalities.” Pitch turned and embraced the Lord Marshal, the older man grinning and returning the embrace.

“It’s good to see you, Pitch,” Aster smiled, squeezing Pitch’s shoulders as he pulled out of the embrace. “I heard several stories from the front. Went guerilla on you, huh?” The Lord Marshal smirked and strode to the whiskey pitcher. “Thirsty?”

“Since it’s my own whiskey you’re offering me, yes. On rocks, if you please,” Pitch chuckled, finding himself a chair by the fireplace.

Aster nodded, placed ice in two glasses, and poured the whiskey. The Lord Marshal turned with the glasses in hand and strode to the General, handing him one. “So,” he smiled, sitting across from Pitch, “how large of a force are we talking?”

“As many as can be spared,” the General sighed, taking a sip of the whiskey. “We didn’t lose many men during the last scrimmage, thank the Gods, or we’d have to pull civilians in.”

“Let’s do our damnedest to avoid that,” Aster agreed, nodding. “That’s a lot of troops you’re planning on moving… how much of that is cavalry, infantry, archers, and pole arms?”

“20% cavalry, 25% archers… 20% pole arms, and 35% infantry,” Pitch replied after a short pause, “And make sure I have plenty of mages, one mage per every two garrisons. I’ll need at least a dozen healers… and two assistants per healer.”

Aster nodded again, sipping from his glass. “That’s a lot of provisions… I’ll have to raid the armory for weapons and arms… and the treasury for the funds…” Aster fell silent, staring into the cold fireplace. Logs sat ready to be burned to chase away the chill after the sun sets. Aster’s bright green eyes followed every grain of the wood as he thought through the implications and the price to launch such an army.

“I highly doubt the Emperor cares how much it will cost in lives or coin,” the General murmured, turning his eyes to the bookshelves around them. “He’s had his eye on Daemon for some time… he wants to expand, and that is all.”

Though Aster nodded, he sighed, “You shouldn’t speak about the Emperor like that…”

“The staff here are all quite aware of what will happen should any of them try to speak ill of me to any ears,” Pitch countered, sipping his whiskey. “My words will not reach his Imperial ears.”

Aster chuckled, “You are daring.”

“I am experienced,” the General smirked, giving the Lord Marshal a challenging look.

But Aster only shrugged. “Hey, it’s your funeral. I’ve been around the Palace for nearly thirty years. I served the previous Emperor until his untimely death and I will serve His Imperial Majesty until I find my grave.”

“Indeed, you were bred and raised for your position,” the General shrugged, leaning back into his chair, “unlike the rest of us military soldiers.”

“Oh, some of your officers were,” Aster smirked.

“Like Nicolas, yes, I’m well aware. That’s probably the only reason he’s facing a promotional board.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting Toothiana,” the Lord Marshal tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at Pitch.

The General waved a hand at that. “Yes, yes, I’ve recommended her for the Royal Guard. She’s far more suited to that than a field officer. She… to put it delicately… is too rigid for field work. The Royal Guard could certainly use her, though.”

Aster’s eyebrows rose again. “Seriously? You’re giving such a good officer to the Royal Guard?”

Pitch nodded again, “Yes. She’s no use to me out in the field.”

~~~

Birds twittered, butterflies drifted on the wind, and horses nickered in the distance. Every animal around him seemed to be having a great time; even the weather gave such an idea of a good day. But Jack wasn’t having a good day; his thoughts were dark and his eyes glared at the flower bed.

Pitch was planning to attack his _home_. His _people_. His _friends_. His _family_.

And all Jack could think of was how much he didn’t want to hurt Pitch.

_Damn you, Pitch. You made me care about you. You knew this would happen and **you made me care**._

The General wasn’t as cruel as Jack had initially thought. He wasn’t cruel to Jack any more than he had to be. He let Jack roam free without a servant or a bodyguard to keep him in line. He gave him clothing, shelter, food…

_Why can’t I hate you? I should hate you… you want to control me… you want to take my city… you want to kill my people… did you spare my life in the field just to make me watch my city burn? Did you spare me just to satisfy yourself?_

“Of course he did…” the mage murmured, biting his lip. “He said so when he … he…” His eyes burned at the memory, cheeks red, of the first time that Pitch took him. The ghost of pain crawled up his spine – along with the ghost of pleasure.

_I need to hate you…_

Slowly, Jack sank to the grassy lawn under the shade of a tree, leaning his back against the hard wood. A tear squeezed out of his eye and rolled down his cheek as Jack turned his eyes up to the sky.

_It looks the same…the same as the sky back home…_

Slowly, Jack turned his eyes away from the sky and the thoughts of home.

_Why can’t… why can’t I hate you…_

~~~

“So tell me about that mage you brought back with you,” Aster smiled, giving the General a knowing look. “What was his name? Jack?”

Pitch nodded, “Jack, yes… he’s an ice mage. Pretty typical of a mage from the North… he’s the son of Senator-Tsar Lunar… and he’s a handful. When I caught him, he tried daily to escape… but on the road here, his attempts became far and few between. He hasn’t tried to escape for two weeks.” The General shrugged, taking another sip from his whiskey. Pitch levered himself to his feet and strode to the window, catching sight of the young mage beneath an apple tree. “He hasn’t lost any spark. He’s still quite fierce… and a hellion when angered.”

Aster nodded, watching the General. “I saw evidence of that, back at the Palace. He was furious with even the mention of attacking his homeland.”

Pitch nodded, “Just one more reason I didn’t want to discuss it with him around. I’m sure he’ll find some way to try and stop the attack. Thought it pains me to say it, I’ll have to leave him here. Think I can count on you to keep an eye on him? I don’t want the Emperor to have him or even give the Emperor a reason to take him…”

Though Aster frowned at it, he nodded. “I’ll watch him… though I should ask, why do you want him so badly?”

“…there’s something about him, Aster. Something calling me to him.”

“Like Ire-”

“Please, Aster… don’t say her name. I’ve asked you before. Her murder… and my daughter’s… it’s still painful.”

“I hope you aren’t replacing them with him,” Aster stood smoothly, taking soft steps toward the General.

Pitch was silent for a moment before he turned his golden eyes toward Aster. “I’m not. But I don’t feel as… as alone anymore…”

“Pitch… if the Emperor learns…”

“I know. He’ll kill Jack.”

Aster nodded, frowning still. “The only reason you’re still allowed to be General and have a manor is because he hasn’t found someone better. If he takes you… he’ll lose a great military leader. His expansionist views don’t agree with his desires.”

“Thankfully…”

Slowly, Aster shook his head. “I don’t agree with him in his expansion and warmongering, but if it keeps you free… I’ll support it. I don’t know why you stay here, Pitch. You know as well as I that the Emperor ordered their deaths… behind closed doors, certainly, but he did.”

“I know… I know… my friend, I just can’t leave. Duty-”

“Hang duty!” Aster suddenly burst out, turning on his heel and pacing across the floor. “If duty is going to get you killed, leave. Run. You have plenty of money for it… you have the means… save yourself and take Jack with you. _Run away,_ Pitch.”

“How would you explain my absence?”

Aster grinned. “Who says I know about it?”

“…what would happen to my staff and manor? My horses?”

“I’ll buy them, right here, right now. Keep two or three horses for Jack, you, and provisions-”

“If you buy anything from me before I leave, you know that the Emperor will suspect. No, Aster, they aren’t for sale. And I can’t leave if I don’t know who will get them…”

Aster shrugged. “I’ll just petition the Emperor for them. He knows I’ve wanted this house for a while. And your horses are the best in the country – minus those of the Imperial stable, of course.”

“Of course. The Emperor must have the best.” Pitch shook his head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Aster… but I can’t just leave.”

“Even though you know you should? Even though you’ll be saving not just yourself, but Jack?”

The General was silent as his eyes turned back toward the young mage. “…you don’t know he’s in danger…”

“Yes, I do,” Aster replied sternly. “Just bringing him put him in danger.”

Pitch fell silent as he watched the mage, studying the curves of his frame, the way his muscles moved when he stretched and lazed about on the grass.

“You know I’m right.”

“…I know, old friend. I know I should leave…”

“Then do it. You’ll be better off… and don’t go North. Don’t let Jack steer you to Daemon. Just because you leave doesn’t mean the Emperor will stop his attack.” Aster strode back to the whiskey, setting his empty glass down. “He’ll want to… that boy would probably do whatever it takes to save his people.” The Lord Marshal turned steady eyes to meet Pitch’s own. “ _Don’t let him_. I can’t protect you if you’re found in Daemon.”

“…I know. We’ll… we’ll leave tonight. Under the cover of dark…”

But Aster shook his head. “Don’t wait. Leave now. If you leave in the dark, people will ask questions. Leave now, in broad daylight, for everyone to see.”

Pitch thought on this for a moment and nodded in agreement. “Alright. Aster, you should probably go before I start packing. Thank you, my friend… and I hope you get my horses, at the very least.”

~~~

“Jack!” At the call, the mage lifted his eyes to glare daggers at the butler standing by the doors of the manor. “Jack, Master Pitch has asked to see you. Please come inside.”

Begrudgingly, the mage stood and brushed himself off, purposefully taking his time. He took a leisurely stroll over the lawn and took one unhurried step at a time up to the manor doors. His dawdling clearly annoyed the butler – and that only made Jack do it more.

“What’s he want?” Jack asked, stretching when he got to the top step.

“The Ma-”

Jack interrupted the butler with a huge yawn, then smiled sheepishly – but not at all sorry – at the butler. “What was that?”

“The _Master_ would like to see you in his room,” the butler growled, then turned on his heel and strode back into the manor.

“Which room is that?” Jack called after him, grinning. He knew, though; he’d explored the manor a little when they got back from the Palace and had discovered the Master bedroom easily enough. When he got no reply from the butler, he shrugged and took his time going up the main staircase. The mage strolled through the corridors until he reached the large oak double doors of the master bedroom. Expecting to be thrown onto the bed because of Pitch’s track record, he knocked obnoxiously and entered without waiting for an answer.

Pitch was there, as expected – but he had traveling packs at the foot of the bed. The tall General glanced up at his entrance, then went back to _packing_.

“…going somewhere?” Jack asked, shutting the door behind him and crossing his arms.

“Yes, we both are,” Pitch replied, to Jack’s utter surprise. “We’re leaving Dara.”

“What? Where? Why?”

“It was a mistake to bring you here. I didn’t think the Emperor was… that jealous…” Pitch paused in his movements, turning his golden eyes up to the young mage before looking away. “I taught the Emperor strategy several years ago, as part of his classes before his father died. Dara wasn’t warmongering then, and I wasn’t as busy as I am now… but while I was teaching him, he fell in love with me. Most would jump at the chance to be a love interest of the Emperor. But his love is toxic, dangerous. When he took the throne, he took away my wife and daughter. He had them murdered. I should have left then and there, but I didn’t; I felt my duty kept me here.” Pitch shut the bag he’d been packing and dropped it down next to the others; then his eyes met Jack’s again. “I made that mistake again. We’re leaving, now, and we’re not coming back. I’ve already finished packing; my staff is getting provisions and our horses ready. Then they’re scattering to the four corners of the world as well. I told them to run… hell, I even gave them horses and provisions. No one will remain for the Emperor to punish.” Pitch stooped to pick up the four bags, hefting them in his arms. “Come on. The horses should be saddled by now and these need to be added.”

As Pitch approached, Jack ducked down and grabbed two of the packs from him. “Let me help you…”

The General smiled at the gesture and nodded. Then he led the way out of the Master bedroom-

Only to stumble back and fall to his knees, dropping the packs in his hands.

“Pitch? What-”

Jack got no further as an arrow lodged itself in his throat. Pale blue eyes fell upon men in red and purple uniforms pouring into the master bedroom. The mage fell over backwards, his blood pouring out of his parted lips and pooling behind him, matting his white hair. The guards surrounded the General, blocking Jack’s view of him.

But he saw the flash of steel. He saw their arms raise high.

And he heard the tearing of flesh.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, though he made no sound – and bravely, neither did Pitch. His heart broke even as it took its last beat.

_Why didn’t I hate you?_

_Why did I have to fall in love with you?_

**_-FIN-_ **


End file.
